The  Life  Stories 

of    X-AUfo^r 

Undistinguished  Americans 

As   Told   by   Themselves 

Edited  by  Hamilton  Holt 


With  an  Introduction  by  Edwin  E.  Slosson 


NEW  YORK 
JAMES    POTT   &   COMPANY 

1906 


REESE 

-      SE 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

INTRODUCTION  . 

CHAPTER    I,         >'.,; 
THE  LIFE  STORY  OF  A  LITHUANIAN 

CHAPTER    II 
THE  LIFE  STORY  OF  A  POLISH  SWEATSHOP  GIRL      .          .     34 

CHAPTER    III 
THE  LIFE  STORY  OF  AN  ITALIAN  BOOTBLACK  .  .     47 

CHAPTER   IV 
THE  LIFE  STORY  OF  A  GREEK  PEDDLER  .     63 

CHAPTER    V 
THE  LIFE  STORY  OF  A  SWEDISH  FARMER 

CHAPTER    VI 
THE  LIFE  STORY  OF  A  FRENCH  DRESSMAKER  .  .     99 

CHAPTER    VII 
THE  LIFE  STORY  OF  A  GERMAN  NURSE  GIRL  .  .   125 

CHAPTER   VIII 
THE  LIFE  STORY  OF  AN  IRISH  COOK       .  .         .   143 

CHAPTER    IX 
THE  LIFE  STORY  OF  A  FARMER'S  WIFE  ....   150 

CHAPTER    X 

TWTT    T.TTTTT    ST^«V    OF    AN    ITINERANT    MINISTER  .  .     167 

[V] 


CONTENTS 

i 

CHAPTER   XI 
THE  LIFE  STORY  OF  A  NEGRO  PEON       ....    183 

CHAPTER    XII 
THE  LIFE  STORY  OF  AN  INDIAN      .         .  .         .   200 

CHAPTER    XIII 
THE  LIFE  STORY  OF  AN  IQORROTE  CHIEF         .         .         .   225 

CHAPTER    XIV 
THE  LIFE  STORY  OF  A  SYRIAN        ......   238 

CHAPTER   XV 
THE  LIFE  STORY  OF  A  JAPANESE  SERVANT      .         .         .  257 

CHAPTER    XVI 
THE  LIFE  STORY  OF  A  CHINAMAN  .  .281 


[vi] 


NOTE 

The  INDEPENDENT  has  published  during  the 
last  four  years  about  seventy-five  autobiogra 
phies  of  undistinguished  American  men  and 
women.  The  aim  of  each  autobiography  was 
to  typify  the  life  of  the  average  worker  in 
some  particular  vocation,  and  to  make  each 
story  the  genuine  experience  of  a  real  person. 
From  this  list  have  been  selected  the  following 
sixteen  lives  as  most  representative  of  the  hum 
bler  classes  in  the  nation,  and  of  individuals 
whose  training  and  work  have  been  the  most 
diverse.  Thus  we  have  the  story  of  the 
butcher,  the  sweat-shop  worker,  the  boot 
black,  the  push-cart  peddler,  the  lumber  man, 
the  dressmaker,  the  nurse  girl,  the  cook,  the 
cotton-picker,  the  head-hunter,  the  trained 
nurse,  the  editor,  the  minister,  the  butler 
and  the  laundryman.  They  also  represent 
the  five  great  races  of  mankind,  the  white,  yel 
low,  red,  brown  and  black,  and  include  immi 
grants  from  Lithuania,  Poland,  Sweden,  Ire 
land,  France,  Germany,  Italy,  Greece,  Syria, 
China  and  Japan.  I  am  aware  that  some  of 
these  autobiographies,  or  "lifelets,"  are  crude 
from  a  literary  point  of  view,  but  they  all  have 
a  deep  human  interest  and  perhaps  some  socio 
logical  importance. 

HAMILTON  HOLT. 
[vii] 


UNDISTINGUISHED 
AMERICANS 


INTRODUCTION 

THE  late  Jules  Verne  about  a  year  before 
his  death  created  something  of  a  sensa 
tion  by  saying  that  the  novel  had  reached  its 
height  and  would  soon  be  displaced  from  its 
present  position  of  influence  and  popularity 
by  new  forms  of  literature.  Whether  the 
fact  that  his  later  romances  had  not  sold  as 
well  as  his  earlier  had  anything  to  do  with  this 
pessimistic  view  of  the  outlook  for  his  trade, 
there  is  much  to  indicate  that  he  was  right. 
It  is  true  that  there  are  more  novels  written 
and  read  than  ever  before,  and  there  is  no 
decline  in  quality,  whether  we  consider  the 
average  or  the  exceptional.  But  the  habitual 
readers  of  fiction,  notwithstanding  their  con- 
spicuousness  and  vocality,  form  only  a  small 
and  continually  smaller  proportion  of  the 
total  number  of  readers.  Most  men  and 
many  women  prefer  to  come  into  closer  touch 
with  reality  and  seek  it,  often  in  vain,  in  the 
newspapers.  Consequently  fiction  is  under- 


UNDISTINGUISHED    AMERICANS 

going  a  process  of  fission ;  the  cleft  between  the 
realistic  and  romantic  novels  is  widening. 
The  former  are  becoming  more  nearly  a  tran 
script  of  life,  and  the  latter,  no  longer  tethered 
to  earth,  are  soaring  into  the  ether  of  the 
imaginary  and  impossible.  In  the  same  way 
the  old-fashioned  melodrama  is  differenti 
ating  into  the  drawing-room  comedy  and  the 
burlesque  opera. 

When  you  propose  to  tell  a  story  to  children 
they  interrupt  at  the  first  sentence  with  the 
question,  "  Is  it  a  true  story?  "  As  we  evade 
or  ignore  this  natural  and  pertinent  inquiry 
they  finally  cease  to  ask  it,  and  we  blur  for 
them  the  edges  of  reality  until  it  fades  off  into 
the  mists.  The  hardest  part  of  the  training 
of  the  scientist  is  to  get  back  the  clear  sight  of 
his  childhood.  But  nowadays  our  educators 
do  not  do  quite  so  much  as  formerly  to  en 
courage  the  mythopeic  faculty  of  children. 
It  has  been  found  that  their  imagination  can 
be  exercised  by  other  objects  than  the  imag 
inary.  Consequently  the  number  of  readers 
who  are  impatient  of  any  detectable  deviation 
from  truth  is  increasing. 

Besides  this,  most  people — perhaps  all- 
are  more  impressed  by  the  concrete  than  the 
abstract.  The  generalized  types  of  humanity 
as  expressed  by  the  artist  in  painting  and 
sculpture,  romances  and  poems  do  not  interest 
them  so  much  as  do  individuals.  A  composite 
photograph  of  a  score  of  girls  is  very  beauti- 

[2] 


INTRODUCTION 


ful,  but  one  is  not  apt  to  fall  in  love  with  it, 
notwithstanding  the  stories  for  which  this  has 
served  as  the  theme.  The  scientist  has  a  very 
clear  and  definite  conception  of  kinetic  energy 
when  it  is  expressed  by  the  formula  mv2,  but 
he  is  more  forcibly  struck  by  it  when  he  is  hit 
on  the  head  with  a  club.  Formerly  botanists 
used  to  talk  a  great  deal  about  species  and 
types ;  later  they  turned  their  attention  to  vari 
eties,  and  now  the  men  who  are  making  the 
most  progress  are  experimenting  with  one 
plant  and  a  single  flower  of  that  one.  The 
candidate  for  a  Ph.D.  watches  a  single  amoeba 
under  a  microscope  and  writes  his  thesis  on 
one  day's  doings  of  its  somewhat  monotonous 
life.  The  man  who  can  describe  the  antics  of 
a  squirrel  in  a  tree  has  all  the  publishers  after 
him,  while  the  zoologist  has  to  pay  for  the 
publication  of  his  monograph  on  the  Sciuri- 
dce.  The  type  of  the  naturalist,  the  ideal 
statue  of  the  sculptor,  the  algebraic  formula 
of  the  physicist  and  the  hero  and  heroine  of 
the  romancer  have  a  symmetry,  universality 
and  beauty  above  that  of  any  individual  and 
in  a  sense  they  are  truer,  but  their  chief  value 
is  not  in  themselves  but  in  their  use  as  guides 
to  the  better  understanding  of  the  individual, 
from  which  they  originate  and  to  which  they 
return. 

To  these  two  forces  tending  to  develop  new 
forms  of  literature,  the  love  of  truth  and  the 
interest  in  the   concrete,   we   must   add  one 
[3] 


UNDISTINGUISHED    AMERICANS 

other,  the  spirit  of  democracy,  the  discovery  of 
the  importance  of  the  average  man.  This, 
after  all,  is  the  most  profitable  branch  of  nature 
study,  the  study  of  Homo  sapiens,  and  of  his 
wife,  who,  in  this  country  at  least,  usually  also 
belongs  to  the  species  sapiens.  Wild  adven 
tures,  erratic  characters,  strange  scenes  and 
impossible  emotions  are  no  longer  required 
even  in  fiction.  The  ordinary  man  under 
ordinary  circumstances  interests  us  most  be 
cause  he  is  most  akin  to  us.  In  politics  he  has 
gained  his  rights  and  in  history  and  literature 
he  is  coming  to  be  recognized.  We  realize 
now  that  a  very  good  history  of  France  could 
be  written,  better  than  most  of  the  old-fash 
ioned  kind,  without  mentioning  the  name  of 
Louis  XIV  or  Napoleon. 

The  resultant  of  these  three  forces  gives  us 
the  general  direction  of  the  literature  of  the 
future.  It  will  be  more  realistic,  more  per 
sonal  and  less  exceptional.  The  combination 
of  these  qualities  is  found  in  the  autobiog 
raphy,  which,  as  Longfellow  said  years  ago,  "is 
what  all  biography  ought  to  be."  It  has  al 
ways  been  a  favorite  form  in  fiction,  from 
"Apuleius,"  "Arabian  Nights"  and  "Rob 
inson  Crusoe  "  to  the  present.  Now  when  we 
publish  a  "  Life  and  Letters  "  we  lay  the  em 
phasis  on  the  latter  part.  A  great  deal  of  fun 
has  been  made  of  those  who  preferred  to  read 
the  love  letters  of  the  Brownings  rather  than 
the  "  Sonnets  from  the  Portuguese "  and 

m 


INTRODUCTION 


"  One  Word  More,"  but  who  will  say  that  the 
verdict  of  the  future  will  not  vindicate  these 
readers  rather  than  their  critics? 

One  other  characteristic  of  the  modern 
reader  must  be  taken  into  consideration,  his 
love  of  brevity.  The  short  story  is  more  pop 
ular  than  the  novel,  the  vaudeville  sketch  than 
the  drama.  We  have,  then,  a  demand  for  the 
brief  autobiography,  the  life  story  in  a  few 
pages.  Since  this  form  of  literature  seems 
likely  to  become  a  distinct  type  we  might  ven 
ture  to  give  it  the  provisional  name  of  the 
"  lifelet."  Its  relation  to  other  literary  forms 
is  shown  most  succinctly  by  this  equation : 

lifelet :  autobiography  : :  short  story  :  novel 

The  short  story  is  older  than  the  art  of 
writing,  but  it  is  only  recently  that  it  has  at 
tained  a  perfection  and  definiteness  of  form 
which  has  caused  it  to  be  recognized  and  stud 
ied  by  rhetoricians.  The  lifelets  now  being 
written  are  like  the  average  short  stories  of 
fifty  years  ago  in  crudity  and  indefiniteness 
of  aim,  but  already  we  can  see  something  of 
the  laws  and  limitations  of  this  new  literary 
type.  In  its  construction  the  same  general 
rules  apply  as  to  the  short  story,  and  conden 
sation,  elimination,  subordination  and  selec 
tion  are  necessary  in  order  to  make  it  readable 
and  truthful.  It  really  demands  as  much  lit 
erary  skill  as  any  form  of  fiction,  but  when 

[5] 


UNDISTINGUISHED    AMERICANS 

it  is  strictly  autobiographical  this  is  likely  to 
be  lacking.  However,  the  number  of  per 
sons  who  can  write  fairly  well  when  they  have 
the  material  is  great  and  increasing  with  the 
spread  of  education.  It  has  been  said  that 
every  one's  life  contains  the  material  for  one 
good  novel.  It  would  evidently  be  more 
plausible  to  say  this  of  the  lifelet. 

Short  autobiographies  of  undistinguished 
people  occasionally  appear  in  most  of  our 
magazines,  but  The  Independent  has  pub 
lished  more  than  any  other,  for  its  Managing 
Editor,  Mr.  Hamilton  Holt,  has  for  several 
years  devoted  himself  to  procuring  such  nar 
ratives  with  the  object  of  ultimately  presenting 
in  this  way  a  complete  picture  of  American 
life  in  all  its  strata.  These  life  stories  found 
favor  with  the  readers  of  The  Independent, 
so  a  few  of  them  have  been  selected  for  publi 
cation  in  this  volume.  In  the  selection  the 
aim  has  been  to  include  a  representative  of 
each  of  the  races  which  go  to  make  up  our 
composite  nationality,  and  of  as  many  differ 
ent  industries  as  possible.  The  book  has, 
therefore,  a  unity  of  theme  and  purpose  that 
may  compensate  for  its  diversity  of  topic  and 
style.  It  is  a  mosaic  picture  composed  of 
living  tesserae. 

In  procuring  these  stories  two  methods  were 
used;  first  and  preferably,  to  have  the  life 
written  upon  his  own  initiative  by  the  person 
who  lived  it;  second,  in  the  case  of  one  too 

[6] 


f 

INTRODUCTION 


ignorant  or  too  impatient  to  write,  to  have 
the  story  written  from  interviews,  and  then 
read  to  and  approved  by  the  person  telling 
it.  Since  the  author's  name  is  often  omitted 
or  is  unknown  to  the  reader,  he  will  have  to 
be  content  with  the  Editor's  assurance  that 
great  pains  have  been  taken  in  all  cases  to  see 
that  the  account  is  truthful,  both  as  to  facts 
and  mode  of  thought,  and  that  it  is  a  represen 
tative,  and  not  exceptional  experience  of  its 
class.  These  sketches,  therefore,  are  very  dif 
ferent  in  character  from  those  of  professional 
writers  of  the  wealthy  or  wrell-to-do  class,  who 
temporarily  become  tramps,  factory  girls,  or 
nursery  governesses,  or  who  join  the  crowd 
of  the  unemployed  for  the  purpose  of  later 
securing  employment  as  professors  or  editors. 
This  book  is,  then,  intended  not  merely  to 
satisfy  our  common  curiosity  as  to  "how  the 
other  half  lives,"  but  to  have  both  a  present 
and  a  future  value  as  a  study  in  sociology.  If 
Plutarch  had  given  us  the  life  stories  of  a 
slave  and  a  hoplite,  a  peasant  and  a  potter,  wre 
would  willingly  have  dispensed  with  an 
equivalent  number  of  kings  and  philosophers. 
Carlyle  gave  to  his  volume  of  biographies  the 
title  "  Heroes  and  Hero  Worship."  Emer 
son  gave  to  his  the  title  "  Representative  Men." 
Both  were  right.  We  can  understand  the 
significance  of  the  great  man  only  when  we 
view  him  both  as  a  product  of  his  times  and  as 
an  innovator.  So,  also,  to  understand  a  social 


UNDISTINGUISHED    AMERICANS 

class,  we  must  study  it  both  statistically  and 
individually.  Biography  and  demography 
are  equally  useful,  the  former  more  vivid,  the 
latter  more  comprehensive.  One  who  studies 
Charles  Booth's  nine  large  volumes  on  the 
"  Life  and  Labor  of  the  Poor  in  London  " 
will  know  as  exactly  as  possible  how  many 
men  in  that  city  are  hungry  and  cold,  but  he 
will  be  more  likely  to  gain  a  definite  realiza 
tion  of  their  condition  and  a  stronger  impulse 
to  remedy  it,  by  reading  Jack  London's  "The 
People  of  the  Abyss." 

Lincoln  said  that  "God  must  love  the  com 
mon  people  because  he  made  so  many  of 
them."  In  all  countries  the  question  of  na 
tional  destiny  is  always  ultimately  settled  by 
the  will  of  majority,  whether  the  people  vote 
or  not.  It  is  the  undistinguished  people  who 
move  the  world,  or  who  prevent  it  from  mov 
ing.  And  the  wise  statesman  is  he  who  can 
best  read  the  minds  of  the  non-vocal  part  of 
the  population,  the  silent  partners  who  have 
the  controlling  vote  in  the  governmental  firm. 

EDWIN  E.  SLOSSON. 


[8] 


CHAPTER    I 

THE    LIFE   STORY    OF    A   LITHUANIAN 

The  Lithuanian,  who  told  the  following  story  of  his  life  to  Mr. 
Ernest  Poole,  is  a  workman  in  the  Chicago  Stockyards  and  gave 
his  name  as  Antanas  Kaztauskis. 

THIS  is  not  my  real  name,  because  if  this 
story  is  printed  it  may  be  read  back  in 
Lithuania,  and  I  do  not  want  to  get  my  father 
and  the  ugly  shoemaker  into  trouble  with  the 
Russian  Government. 

It  was  the  shoemaker  who  made  me  want  to 
come  to  America.  He  was  a  traveling  shoe 
maker,  for  on  our  farms  we  tan  our  own 
cowhides,  and  the  shoemaker  came  to  make 
them  into  boots  for  us.  By  traveling  he 
learned  all  the  news  and  he  smuggled  in  news 
papers  across  the  frontier  from  Germany. 
We  were  always  glad  to  hear  him  talk. 

I  can  never  forget  that  evening  four  years 
ago.  It  was  a  cold  December.  We  were  in 
a  big  room  in  our  log  house  in  Lithuania. 
My  good,  kind,  thin  old  mother  sat  near  the 
wide  fireplace,  working  her  brown  spinning 
wheel,  with  which  she  made  cloth  for  our  shirts 
and  coats  and  pants.  I  sat  on  the  floor  in 
front  of  her  with  my  knee-boots  off  and  my 

[9] 


UNDISTINGUISHED    AMERICANS 

feet  stretched  out  to  the  fire.  My  feet  were 
cold,  for  I  had  been  out  with  my  young  brother 
in  the  freezing  sheds  milking  the  cows  and 
feeding  the  sheep  and  geese.  I  leaned  my 
head  on  her  dress  and  kept  yawning  and  think 
ing  about  my  big  goose-feather  bed.  My 
father  sat  and  smoked  his  pipe  across  the  fire 
place.  Between  was  a  kerosene  lamp  on  a 
table,  and  under  it  sat  the  ugly  shoemaker  on 
a  stool  finishing  a  big  yellow  boot.  His 
sleeves  were  rolled  up ;  his  arms  were  thin  and 
bony,  but  you  could  see  how  strong  the  fingers 
and  wrist  were,  for  when  he  grabbed  the 
needle  he  jerked  it  through  and  the  whole 
arm's  length  up.  This  arm  kept  going  up  and 
down.  Every  time  it  went  up  he  jerked  back 
his  long  mixed-up  red  hair  and  grunted.  And 
you  could  just  see  his  face — bony  and  shut  to 
gether  tight,  and  his  narrow  sharp  eyes  look 
ing  down.  Then  his  head  would  go  down 
again,  and  his  hair  would  get  all  mixed  up.  I 
kept  watching  him.  My  fat,  older  brother, 
who  sat  behind  with  his  fat  wife,  grinned  and 
said :  "  Look  out  or  your  eyes  will  make  holes 
in  the  leather."  My  brother's  eyes  were  al 
ways  dull  and  sleepy.  Men  like  him  stay  in 
Lithuania. 

At  last  the  boot  was  finished.  The  little 
shoemaker  held  it  up  and  looked  at  it.  My 
father  stopped  smoking  and  looked  at  it. 
"  That's  a  good  boot,"  said  my  father.  The 
shoemaker  grunted.  '  That's  a  damn  poor 
[10] 


STORY    OF    A    LITHUANIAN 

boot,"  he  replied  (instead  of  "  damn  "  he  said 
"  skatina  ") ,  "  a  rough  boot  like  all  your  boots, 
and  so  when  you  grow  old  you  are  lame.  You 
have  only  poor  things,  for  rich  Russians  get 
your  good  things,  and  yet  you  will  not  kick  up 
against  them.  Bah!" 

"  I  don't  like  your  talk,"  said  my  father, 
and  he  spit  into  the  fire,  as  he  always  did  when 
he  began  to  think.  "  I  am  honest.  I  work 
hard.  We  get  along.  That's  all.  So  what 
good  will  such  talk  do  me?  " 

4  You!"  cried  the  shoemaker,  and  he  now 
threw  the  boot  on  the  floor  so  that  our  big 
dog  lifted  up  his  head  and  looked  around. 
"  It's  not  you  at  all.  It's  the  boy — that  boy 
there!"  and  he  pointed  to  me.  "That  boy 
must  go  to  America!  " 

Now  I  quickly  stopped  yawning  and  I 
looked  at  him  all  the  time  after  this.  My 
mother  looked  frightened  and  she  put  her 
hand  on  my  head.  "No,  no;  he  is  only  a 
boy,"  she  said.  "  Bah!  "  cried  the  shoemaker, 
pushing  back  his  hair,  and  then  I  felt  he  was 
looking  right  through  me.  "He  is  eighteen 
and  a  man.  You  know  where  he  must  go  in 
three  years  more."  We  all  knew  he  meant 
my  five  years  in  the  army.  '  Where  is  your 
oldest  son?  Dead.  Oh,  I  know  the  Russians 
—the  man- wolves !  I  served  my  term,  I  know 
how  it  is.  Your  son  served  in  Turkey  in  the 
mountains.  Why  not  here?  Because  they 
want  foreign  soldiers  here  to  beat  us.  He 


UNDISTINGUISHED    AMERICANS 

had  four  roubles  ($2.08)  pay  for  three  months, 
and  with  that  he  had  to  pay  men  like  me  to 
make  his  shoes  and  clothes.  Oh,  the  wolves! 
They  let  him  soak  in  rain;  standing  guard  all 
night  in  the  snow  and  ice  he  froze,  the  food 
was  God's  food,  the  vodka  was  cheap  and  rot 
ten!  Then  he  died.  The  wolves — the  man 
wolves!  Look  at  this  book."  He  jerked  a 
Roman  Catholic  prayer  book  from  his  bag  on 
the  floor.  '  Where  would  I  go  if  they  found 
this  on  me?  Where  is  Wilhelm  Birbell?  " 

At  this  my  father  spit  hard  again  into  the 
fire  and  puffed  his  pipe  fast. 

'  Where  is  Wilhelm  Birbell? "  cried  the 
shoemaker,  and  we  all  kept  quiet.  We  all 
knew.  Birbell  was  a  rich  farmer  who  smug 
gled  in  prayer  books  from  Germany  so  that 
we  all  could  pray  as  we  liked,  instead  of  the 
Russian  Church  way.  He  was  caught  one 
night  and  they  kept  him  two  years  in  the  St. 
Petersburg  jail,  in  a  cell  so  narrow  and  short 
that  he  could  not  stretch  out  his  legs,  for  they 
were  very  long.  This  made  him  lame  for  life. 
Then  they  sent  him  to  Irkutsk,  down  in 
Siberia.  There  he  sawed  logs  to  get  food. 
He  escaped  and  now  he  is  here  in  Chicago. 
But  at  that  time  he  was  in  jail. 

"Where  is  Wilhelm  Birbell?"  cried  the 
shoemaker.  "  Oh,  the  wolves !  And  what  is 
this?  "  He  pulled  out  an  old  American  news 
paper,  printed  in  the  Lithuanian  language, 
and  I  remember  he  tore  it  he  was  so  angry. 

' 


STORY    OF    A    LITHUANIAN 

"  The  world's  good  news  is  all  kept  away. 
We  can  only  read  what  Russian  officials  print 
in  their  papers.  Read?  No,  you  can't  read 
or  write  your  own  language,  because  there  is 
no  Lithuanian  school — only  the  Russian  school 
—you  can  only  read  and  write  Russian.  Can 
you?  No,  you  can't!  Because  even  those 
Russian  schools  make  you  pay  to  learn,  and 
you  have  no  money  to  pay.  Will  you  never 
be  ashamed — all  you?  Listen  to  me." 

Now  I  looked  at  my  mother  and  her  face 
looked  frightened,  but  the  shoemaker  cried 
still  louder.  "  Why  can't  you  have  your  own 
Lithuanian  school?  Because  you  are  like 
dogs — you  have  nothing  to  say — you  have  no 
town  meetings  or  province  meetings,  no  elec 
tions.  You  are  slaves!  And  why  can't  you 
even  pay  to  go  to  their  Russian  school?  Be 
cause  they  get  all  your  money.  Only  twelve 
acres  you  own,  but  you  pay  eighty  roubles 
($40)  taxes.  You  must  work  twelve  days 
on  your  Russian  roads.  Your  kind  old  wife 
must  plow  behind  the  oxen,  for  I  saw  her  last 
summer,  and  she  looked  tired.  You  must  all 
slave,  but  still  your  rye  and  wheat  brings  little 
money,  because  they  cheat  you  bad.  Oh,  the 
wolves — how  fat  they  are!  And  so  your  boy 
must  never  read  or  write,  or  think  like  a  man 
should  think." 

But  now  my  mother  cried  out,  and  her  voice 
was  shaking.  '  Leave  us  alone — you  leave 
us !  We  need  no  money — we  trade  our  things 
[13] 


UNDISTINGUISHED    AMERICANS 

for  the  things  we  need  at  the  store — we  have 
all  we  need — leave  us  alone!  " 

Then  my  fat  brother  grinned  and  said  to 
the  shoemaker,  "  You  always  stir  up  young 
men  to  go  to  America.  Why  don't  you  go 
yourself? " 

I  remember  that  the  little  shoemaker  had 
pulled  a  big  crooked  pipe  out  of  his  bag. 
Now  he  took  a  splinter  from  the  basket  of 
splinters  which  hung  on  the  wall  and  he  lit  his 
pipe  and  puffed  it.  His  face  showed  me  that 
he  felt  bad.  "  I  am  too  old,"  he  said,  "  to  learn 
a  new  trade.  These  boots  are  no  good  in 
America.  America  is  no  place  for  us  old  ras 
cals.  My  son  is  in  Chicago  in  the  stockyards, 
and  he  writes  to  me.  They  have  hard  knocks. 
If  you  are  sick  or  old  there  and  have  no  money 
you  must  die.  That  Chicago  place  has 
trouble,  too.  Do  you  see  that  light?  That  is 
kerosene.  Do  you  remember  the  price  went 
up  last  year?  That  is  Rockefeller.  My  son 
writes  me  about  him.  He  is  another  man- 
wolf.  A  few  men  like  him  are  grabbing  all 
the  good  things — the  oil  and  coal  and  meat 
and  everything.  But  against  these  men  you 
can  strike  if  you  are  young.  You  can  read 
free  papers  and  prayer  books.  In  Chicago 
there  are  prayer  books  for  every  man  and 
woman.  You  can  have  free  meetings  and  talk 
out  what  you  think.  And  so  if  you  are  young 
you  can  change  all  these  troubles.  But  I  am 
old.  I  can  feel  it  now,  this  winter.  So  I 
[14] 


STORY    OF    A    LITHUANIAN 

only  tell  young  men  to  go."  He  looked  hard 
at  me  and  I  looked  at  him.  He  kept  talking. 
"  I  tell  them  to  go  where  they  can  choose  their 
own  kind  of  God — where  they  can  learn  to 
read  and  write,  and  talk,  and  think  like  men— 
and  have  good  things!  " 

He  kept  looking  at  me,  but  he  opened  the 
newspaper  and  held  it  up.  "  Some  day,"  he 
said,  "  I  will  be  caught  and  sent  to  jail,  but  I 
don't  care.  I  got  this  from  my  son,  who  reads 
all  he  can  find  at  night.  It  had  to  be  smug 
gled  in.  I  lend  it  many  times  to  many  young 
men.  My  son  got  it  from  the  night  school 
and  he  put  it  in  Lithuanian  for  me  to  see." 
Then  he  bent  over  the  paper  a  long  time  and 
his  lips  moved.  At  last  he  looked  into  the  fire 
and  fixed  his  hair,  and  then  his  voice  was  shak 
ing  and  very  low: 

"  'We  know  these  are  true  things — that  all  men  are 
born  free  and  equal — that  God  gives  them  rights 
which  no  man  can  take  away — that  among  these 
rights  are  life,  liberty  and  the  getting  of  happiness.'  ' 

He  stopped,  I  remember,  and  looked  at  me, 
and  I  was  not  breathing.  He  said  it  again. 

'  Life,  liberty  and  the  getting  of  happiness.' 
Oh,  that  is  what  you  want." 

My  mother  began  to  cry.  "  He  cannot  go 
if  his  father  commands  him  to  stay,"  she  kept 
saying.  I  knew  this  was  true,  for  in  Lith 
uania  a  father  can  command  his  son  till  he 
dies. 

[15] 


UNDISTINGUISHED    AMERICANS 

"  No,  he  must  not  go,"  said  the  shoemaker, 
"  if  his  father  commands  him  to  stay."  He 
turned  and  looked  hard  at  my  father.  My 
father  was  looking  into  the  fire.  "  If  he 
goes,"  said  my  father,  "  those  Russians  will 
never  let  him  come  back."  My  mother  cried 
harder.  We  all  waited  for  him  to  say  some 
thing  else.  In  about  five  minutes  the  shoe 
maker  got  up  and  asked,  "  Well,  what  do  you 
say, — the  army  or  America?  "  But  my  father 
shook  his  head  and  would  not  say  anything. 
Soon  my  brother  began  yawning  and  took  his 
fat  wife  and  went  to  bed.  The  little  shoe 
maker  gathered  his  tools  into  his  big  bag  and 
threw  it  over  his  shoulder.  His  shoulder  was 
crooked.  Then  he  came  close  to  me  and 
looked  at  me  hard. 

'  I  am  old,"  he  said,  "  I  wish  I  was  young. 
And  you  must  be  old  soon  and  that  will  be  too 
late.  The  army — the  man  wolves!  Bah!  it  is 
terrible." 

After  he  was  gone  my  father  and  I  kept 
looking  at  the  fire.  My  mother  stopped  cry 
ing  and  went  out.  Our  house  was  in  two  parts 
of  two  rooms  each.  Between  the  parts  was 
an  open  shed  and  in  this  shed  was  a  big  oven, 
where  she  was  baking  bread  that  night.  I 
could  hear  her  pull  it  out  to  look  at  it  and  then 
push  it  back.  Then  she  came  in  and  sat  down 
beside  me  and  began  spinning  again.  I 
leaned  against  her  dress  and  watched  the  fire 
and  thought  about  America.  Sometimes  I 
[16] 


STORY    OF    A    LITHUANIAN 

looked  at  my  father,  and  she  kept  looking  at 
him,  too,  but  he  would  not  say  anything.  At 
last  my  old  mother  stopped  spinning  and  put 
her  hand  on  my  forehead. 

"  Alexandria  is  a  fine  girl,"  she  whispered. 
This  gave  me  a  quick,  bad  feeling.  Alexandria 
was  the  girl  I  wanted  to  marry.  She  lived 
about  ten  miles  away.  Her  father  liked  my 
father  and  they  seemed  to  be  glad  that  I  loved 
her.  I  had  often  been  thinking  at  night  how 
in  a  few  years  I  would  go  with  my  uncle  to  her 
house  and  ask  her  father  and  mother  to  give 
her  to  me.  I  could  see  the  wedding  all  ahead 
—how  we  would  go  to  her  house  on  Saturday 
night  and  they  would  have  music  there  and 
many  people  and  we  would  have  a  sociable 
time.  Then  in  the  morning  we  would  go  to 
the  church  and  be  married  and  come  back  to 
my  father's  house  and  live  with  him.  I  saw  it 
all  ahead,  and  I  was  sure  we  would  be  very 
happy.  Now  I  began  thinking  of  this.  I 
could  see  her  fine  soft  eyes  and  I  hated  to  go 
away.  My  old  mother  kept  her  hands  mov 
ing  on  my  forehead.  '  Yes,  she  is  a  nice  girl ; 
a  kind,  beautiful  girl,"  she  kept  whispering. 
We  sat  there  till  the  lamp  went  out.  Then 
the  fire  got  low  and  the  room  was  cold  and 
we  went  to  bed.  But  I  could  not  sleep  and 
kept  thinking. 

The  next  day  my  father  told  me  that  I 
could  not  go  until  the  time  came  for  the  army, 
three  years  ahead.  "  Stay  until  then  and  then 
[17] 


UNDISTINGUISHED    AMERICANS 

we  will  see,"  he  said.  My  mother  was  very 
glad  and  so  was  I,  because  of  Alexandria. 
But  in  the  coldest  part  of  that  winter  my  dear 
old  mother  got  sick  and  died.  The  neighbors 
all  came  in  and  sang  holy  songs  for  two  days 
and  nights.  The  priest  was  there  and  my 
father  bought  fine  candles.  Two  of  the 
neighbors  made  a  coffin.  At  last  it  was  all 
over.  For  a  long  time  our  log  house  was  al 
ways  quiet. 

That  summer  the  shoemaker  came  again 
and  talked  with  me.  This  time  I  was  very 
eager  to  go  to  America,  and  my  father  told 
me  I  could  go. 

One  morning  I  walked  over  to  say  good-by 
to  Alexandria.  It  was  ten  miles  and  the  road 
was  dusty,  so  I  carried  my  boots  over  my 
shoulder,  as  we  always  did,  and  I  put  them 
on  when  I  came  near  her  house.  When  I  saw 
her  I  felt  very  bad,  and  so  did  she.  I  had  the 
strongest  wish  I  ever  had  to  take  hold  of  her 
and  keep  her  all  my  life.  We  stayed  together 
till  it  was  dark  and  night  fogs  came  up  out  of 
the  field  grass,  and  we  could  hardly  see  the 
house.  Then  she  said  good-by.  For  many 
nights  I  kept  remembering  the  way  she  looked 
up  at  me. 

The  next  night  after  supper  I  started.  It 
is  against  the  law  to  sell  tickets  to  America,  but 
my  father  saw  the  secret  agent  in  the  village 
and  he  got  a  ticket  from  Germany  and  found 
us  a  guide.  I  had  bread  and  cheese  and  honey 
[18] 


STORY    OF    A    LITHUANIAN 

and  vodka  and  clothes  in  my  bag.  Some  of 
the  neighbors  walked  a  few  miles  and  said 
good-by  and  then  went  back.  My  father  and 
my  younger  brother  walked  on  all  night  with 
the  guide  and  me.  At  daylight  we  came  to 
the  house  of  a  man  the  guide  knew.  We 
slept  there  and  that  night  I  left  my  father 
and  young  brother.  My  father  gave  me  $50 
besides  my  ticket.  The  next  morning  before 
light  we  were  going  through  the  woods  and 
we  came  to  the  frontier.'  Three  roads  run 
along  the  frontier.  On  the  first  road  there  is 
a  soldier  every  mile,  who  stands  there  all  night. 
On  the  second  road  is  a  soldier  every  half 
mile,  and  on  the  third  road  is  a  soldier  every 
quarter  of  a  mile.  The  guide  went  ahead 
through  the  woods.  I  hid  with  my  big  bag 
behind  a  bush  and  whenever  he  raised  his  hand 
I  sneaked  along.  I  felt  cold  all  over  and 
sometimes  hot.  He  told  me  that  sometimes 
he  took  twenty  immigrants  together,  all  with 
out  passports,  and  then  he  could  not  pass  the 
soldiers  and  so  he  paid  a  soldier  he  knew  one 
dollar  a  head  to  let  them  by.  He  said  the 
soldier  was  very  strict  and  counted  them  to  see 
that  he  was  not  being  cheated. 

So  I  was  in  Germany.  Two  days  after 
that  we  reached  Tilsit  and  the  guide  took  me 
to  the  railroad  man.  This  man  had  a  crowd 
of  immigrants  in  a  room,  and  we  started  that 
night  on  the  railroad — fourth  class.  It  was 
bad  riding  sometimes.  I  used  to  think  of 
[19] 


UNDISTINGUISHED    AMERICANS 

Alexandria.  We  were  all  green  and  slow. 
The  railroad  man  used  to  say  to  me,  "  You 
will  have  to  be  quicker  than  this  in  Chicago," 
and  he  was  right.  We  were  very  slow  in  the 
stations  where  we  changed  trains,  and  he  used 
to  shout  at  us  then,  and  one  old  German  man 
who  spoke  Lithuanian  told  me  what  the  man 
was  calling  us.  When  he  told  me  this  I  hur 
ried,  and  so  did  the  others,  and  we  began  to 
learn  to  be  quicker.  It  took  three  days  to  get 
to  Hamburg.  There  we  were  put  in  a  big 
house  called  a  barracks,  and  we  waited  a  week. 
The  old  German  man  told  me  that  the  bar 
racks  men  were  cheating  us.  He  had  been 
once  to  Cincinnati  in  America  to  visit  his 
son,  who  kept  a  saloon.  His  old,  long  pipe 
was  stolen  there.  He  kept  saying,  "  Dem 
grafters,  dem  grafters,"  in  a  low  voice  when 
ever  they  brought  food  to  sell,  for  our  bags 
were  now  empty.  They  kept  us  there  till  our 
money  was  half  spent  on  food.  I  asked  the 
old  man  what  kind  of  American  men  were 
grafters,  and  he  said,  "  All  kinds  in  Cincin 
nati,  but  more  in  Chicago!"  I  knew  I  was 
going  to  Chicago,  and  I  began  to  think 
quicker.  I  thought  quicker  yet  on  the  boat. 
I  saw  men  playing  cards.  I  played  and  lost 
$1.86  in  my  new  money,  till  the  old  man  came 
behind  me  and  said,  "  Dem  grafters."  When 
I  heard  this  I  got  scared  and  threw  down  my 
cards.  That  old  man  used  to  point  up  at  the 
rich  people  looking  down  at  us  and  say, 
[20] 


STORY    OF    A    LITHUANIAN 

"  Dem  grafters."  They  were  the  richest  peo 
ple  I  had  ever  seen — the  boat  was  the  biggest 
boat  I  had  ever  seen — the  machine  that  made 
it  go  was  very  big,  and  so  was  the  horn  that 
blew  in  a  fog.  I  felt  everything  get  bigger 
and  go  quicker  every  day. 

It  was  the  most  when  we  came  to  New 
York.  We  were  driven  in  a  thick  crowd  to 
the  railroad  station.  The  old  man  kept  point 
ing  and  saying,  "  Grafters,  grafters,"  till  the 
guide  punched  him  and  said,  "  Be  quick,  damn 
you,  be  quick."  .  .  .  "I  will  be  quick 
pretty  soon,"  said  the  old  man  to  me,  "  and  den 
I  will  get  back  dot  pipe  in  Cincinnati.  And 
when  I  will  be  quicker  still,  alreddy,  I  will 
steal  some  odder  man's  pipe.  Every  quick 
American  man  is  a  grafter.**  I  began  to  be 
lieve  that  this  was  true,  but  I  was  mixed  up 
and  could  not  think  long  at  one  time.  Every 
thing  got  quicker — worse  and  worse — till  then 
at  last  I  was  in  a  boarding  house  by  the  stock 
yards  in  Chicago  with  three  Lithuanians,  who 
knew  my  father's  sisters  at  home. 

That  first  night  we  sat  around  in  the  house 
and  they  asked  me,  "  Well,  why  did  you 
come?  "  I  told  them  about  that  first  night 
and  what  the  ugly  shoemaker  said  about  "  life, 
liberty  and  the  getting  of  happiness."  They 
all  leaned  back  and  laughed.  "  What  you 
need  is  money,"  they  said.  "  It  was  all  right 
at  home.  You  wanted  nothing.  You  ate 
your  own  meat  and  your  own  things  on  the 
[21] 


UNDISTINGUISHED    AMERICANS 

farm.  You  made  your  own  clothes  and  had 
your  own  leather.  The  other  things  you  got 
at  the  Jew  man's  store  and  paid  him  with  sacks 
of  rye.  But  here  you  want  a  hundred  things. 
Whenever  you  walk  out  you  see  new  things 
you  want,  and  you  must  have  money  to  buy 
everything." 

Then  one  man  asked  me,  "  How  much  have 
you?  "  and  I  told  him  $30.  "  You  must  buy 
clothes  to  look  rich,  even  if  you  are  not  rich," 
he  said.  '  With  good  clothes  you  will  have 
friends." 

The  next  morning  three  of  these  men  took 
me  to  a  store  near  the  stockyards  to  buy  a  coat 
and  pants.  "  Look  out,"  said  one  of  them. 
"Is  he  a  grafter?"  I  asked.  They  all 
laughed.  '  You  stand  still.  That  is  all  you 
have  to  do,"  they  said.  So  the  Jew  man  kept 
putting  on  coats  and  I  moved  my  arms  and 
back  and  sides  when  they  told  me.  We  stayed 
there  till  it  was  time  for  dinner.  Then  we 
bought  a  suit.  I  paid  $5  and  then  I  was  to 
pay  $1  a  week  for  five  weeks. 

In  the  afternoon  I  went  to  a  big  store. 
There  was  a  man  named  Elias.  "  He  is  not 
a  grafter,"  said  my  friends.  He  was  nice  to 
me  and  gave  me  good  advice  how  to  get  a  job. 
I  bought  two  shirts,  a  hat,  a  collar,  a  necktie, 
two  pairs  of  socks  and  some  shoes.  We  kept 
going  upstairs  and  downstairs.  I  saw  one 
Lithuanian  man  buying  everything  for  his 
wife  and  three  children,  who  would  come  here 


STORY    OF   A   LITHUANIAN 

the  next  week  from  Lithuania.  My  things 
cost  me  $8.  I  put  these  on  right  away  and 
then  I  began  to  feel  better. 

The  next  night  they  took  me  for  a  walk 
down  town.  We  would  not  pay  to  ride,  so 
we  walked  so  long  that  I  wanted  to  take  my 
shoes  off,  but  I  did  not  tell  them  this.  When 
we  came  there  I  forgot  my  feet.  We  stood 
by  one  theater  and  watched  for  half  an  hour. 
Then  we  walked  all  around  a  store  that  filled 
one  whole  block  and  had  walls  of  glass. 
Then  we  had  a  drink  of  whiskey,  and  this  is 
better  than  vodka.  We  felt  happier  and 
looked  into  cafes.  We  saw  shiny  carriages  and 
automobiles.  I  saw  men  with  dress  suits,  I 
saw  women  with  such  clothes  that  I  could  not 
think  at  all.  Then  my  friends  punched  me 
and  I  turned  around  and  saw  one  of  these 
women,  and  with  her  was  a  gentleman  in  a 
fine  dress  suit.  I  began  looking  harder.  It 
was  the  Jew  man  that  sold  me  my  suit.  "  He 
is  a  grafter,"  said  my  friends.  "  See  what 
money  can  do."  Then  we  walked  home  and 
I  felt  poor  and  my  shoes  got  very  bad. 

That  night  I  felt  worse.  We  were  tired 
out  when  we  reached  the  stockyards,  so  we 
stopped  on  the  bridge  and  looked  into  the  river 
out  there.  It  was  so  full  of  grease  and  dirt 
and  sticks  and  boxes  that  it  looked  like  a  big, 
wide,  dirty  street,  except  in  some  places,  where 
it  boiled  up.  It  made  me  sick  to  look  at  it. 
When  I  looked  away  I  could  see  on  one  side 
[23] 


UNDISTINGUISHED    AMERICANS 

some  big  fields  full  of  holes,  and  these  were  the 
city  dumps.  On  the  other  side  were  the  stock 
yards,  with  twenty  tall  slaughter  house  chim 
neys.  The  wind  blew  a  big  smell  from  them 
to  us.  Then  we  walked  on  between  the  yards 
and  the  dumps  and  all  the  houses  looked  bad 
and  poor.  In  our  house  my  room  was  in  the 
basement.  I  lay  down  on  the  floor  with  three 
other  men  and  the  air  was  rotten.  I  did  not 
go  to  sleep  for  a  long  time.  I  knew  then  that 
money  was  everything  I  needed.  My  money 
was  almost  gone  and  I  thought  that  I  would 
soon  die  unless  I  got  a  job,  for  this  was  not 
like  home.  Here  money  was  everything  and 
a  man  without  money  must  die. 

The  next  morning  my  friends  woke  me  up 
at  five  o'clock  and  said,  "  Now,  if  you  want 
life,  liberty  and  happiness,"  they  laughed, 
"  you  must  push  for  yourself.  You  must  get 
a  job.  Come  with  us."  And  we  went  to  the 
yards.  Men  and  women  were  walking  in  by 
thousands  as  far  as  we  could  see.  We  went 
to  the  doors  of  one  big  slaughter  house. 
There  was  a  crowd  of  about  200  men  waiting 
there  for  a  job.  They  looked  hungry  and  kept 
watching  the  door.  At  last  a  special  police 
man  came  out  and  began  pointing  to  men,  one 
by  one.  Each  one  jumped  forward.  Twenty- 
three  were  taken.  Then  they  all  went  inside, 
and  all  the  others  turned  their  faces  away  and 
looked  tired.  I  remember  one  boy  sat  down 
and  cried,  just  next  to  me,  on  a  pile  of  boards. 
[24] 


STORY    OF    A    LITHUANIAN 

Some  policemen  waved  their  clubs  and  we  all 
walked  on.  I  found  some  Lithuanians  to  talk 
with,  who  told  me  they  had  come  every  morn 
ing  for  three  weeks.  Soon  we  met  other 
crowds  coming  away  from  other  slaughter 
houses,  and  we  all  walked  around  and  felt  bad 
and  tired  and  hungry. 

That  night  I  told  my  friends  that  I  would 
not  do  this  many  days,  but  would  go  some 
place  else.  '  Where?  "  they  asked  me,  and  I 
began  to  see  then  that  I  was  in  bad  trouble, 
because  I  spoke  no  English.  Then  one  man 
told  me  to  give  him  $5  to  give  the  special 
policeman.  I  did  this  and  the  next  morning 
the  policeman  pointed  me  out,  so  I  had  a  job. 
I  have  heard  some  big  talk  since  then  about  my 
American  freedom  of  contract,  but  I  do  not 
think  I  had  much  freedom  in  bargaining  for 
this  job  with  the  Meat  Trust.  My  job  was  in 
the  cattle  killing  room.  I  pushed  the  blood 
along  the  gutter.  Some  people  think  these 
jobs  make  men  bad.  I  do  not  think  so.  The 
men  who  do  the  killing  are  not  as  bad  as  the 
ladies  with  fine  clothes  who  come  every  day  to 
look  at  it,  because  they  have  to  do  it.  The 
cattle  do  not  suffer.  They  are  knocked  sense 
less  with  a  big  hammer  and  are  dead  before 
they  wake  up.  This  is  done  not  to  spare  them 
pain,  but  because  if  they  got  hot  and  sweating 
with  fear  and  pain  the  meat  would  not  be  so 
good.  I  soon  saw  that  every  job  in  the 
room  was  done  like  this — so  as  to  save 
[25] 


UNDISTINGUISHED    AMERICANS 

everything  and  make  money.  One  Lithu 
anian  who  worked  with  me,  said,  "  They  get 
all  the  blood  out  of  those  cattle  and  all  the 
work  out  of  us  men."  This  was  true,  for  we 
worked  that  first  day  from  six  in  the  morning 
till  seven  at  night.  The  next  day  we  worked 
from  six  in  the  morning  till  eight  at  night. 
The  next  day  we  had  no  work.  So  we  had 
no  good,  regular  hours.  It  was  hot  in  the 
room  that  summer,  and  the  hot  blood  made  it 
worse. 

I  held  this  job  six  weeks  and  then  I  was 
turned  off.  I  think  some  other  man  had  paid 
for  my  job,  or  perhaps  I  was  too  slow.  The 
foreman  in  that  room  wanted  quick  men  to 
make  the  work  rush,  because  he  was  paid  more 
if  the  work  was  done  cheaper  and  quicker.  I 
saw  now  that  every  man  was  helping  himself, 
always  trying  to  get  all  the  money  he  could. 
At  that  time  I  believed  that  all  men  in  Chicago 
were  grafters  when  they  had  to  be.  They 
only  wanted  to  push  themselves.  Now,  when 
I  was  idle  I  began  to  look  about,  and  every 
where  I  saw  sharp  men  beating  out  slow  men 
like  me.  Even  if  we  worked  hard  it  did  us 
no  good.  I  had  saved  $13 — $5  a  week  for  six 
weeks  makes  $30,  and  take  off  $15  for  six 
weeks'  board  and  lodging  and  $2  for  other 
things.  I  showed  this  to  a  Lithuanian,  who 
had  been  here  two  years,  and  he  laughed. 
"  It  will  be  taken  from  you,"  he  said.  He  had 
saved  a  hundred  dollars  once  and  had  begun  to 
[26] 


STORY    OF    A    LITHUANIAN 

buy  a  house  on  the  installment  plan,  but  some 
thing  had  happened  that  he  did  not  know 
about  and  his  landlord  put  him  out  and  kept 
the  hundred  dollars.  I  found  that  many 
Lithuanians  had  been  beaten  this  way.  At 
home  we  never  made  a  man  sign  contract 
papers.  We  only  had  him  make  the  sign  of 
a  cross  and  promise  he  would  do  what  he  said. 
But  this  was  no  good  in  Chicago.  So  these 
sharp  men  were  beating  us. 

I  saw  this,  too,  in  the  newspaper.  I  was  be 
ginning  to  learn  English,  and  at  night  in  the 
boarding  house  the  men  who  did  not  play  cards 
used  to  read  the  paper  to  us.  The  biggest 
word  was  "  Graft  "  in  red  letters  on  the  front 
page.  Another  word  was  '  Trust."  This 
paper  kept  putting  these  two  words  together. 
Then  I  began  to  see  how  every  American  man 
was  trying  to  get  money  for  himself.  I  won 
dered  if  the  old  German  man  in  Cincinnati 
had  found  his  pipe  yet.  I  felt  very  bad  and 
sorrowful  in  that  month.  I  kept  walking 
around  with  many  other  Lithuanians  who  had 
no  job.  Our  money  was  going  and  we  could 
find  nothing  to  do.  At  night  we  got  home 
sick  for  our  fine  green  mountains.  We  read 
all  the  news  about  home  in  our  Lithuanian 
Chicago  newspaper,  The  Katalikas.  It  is  a 
good  paper  and  gives  all  the  news.  In  the 
same  office  we  bought  this  song,  which  was 
written  in  Brooklyn  by  P.  Brandukas.  He, 
too,  was  homesick.  It  is  sung  all  over  Chi 
li  27  ] 


UNDISTINGUISHED    AMERICANS 

cago  and  you  can  hear  it  in  the  summer  even 
ings  through  the  open  windows.  In  English 
it  is  something  like  this: 

"Oh,  Lithuania,  so  dear  to  me, 
Good-by  to  you,  my  Fatherland. 
Sorrowful  in  my  heart  I  leave  you. 
I  know  not  who  will  stay  to  guard  you. 

Is  it  enough  for  me  to  live  and  enjoy  between  my 

neighbors, 

In  the  woods  with  the  flowers  and  birds? 
Is  it  enough   for  me  to  live  peaceful  between  my 

friends  ? 
No,  I  must  go  away  from  my  old  father  and  mother. 

The  sun  shines  bright, 
The  flowers  smell  sweet, 
The  birds  are  singing, 
They  make  the  country  glad : 
But  I  cannot  sing  because  I  must  leave  you." 

Those  were  bad  days  and  nights.  At  last 
I  had  a  chance  to  help  myself.  Summer  was 
over  and  Election  Day  was  coming.  The  Re 
publican  boss  in  our  district,  Jonidas,  was  a 
saloon  keeper.  A  friend  took  me  there.  Jon 
idas  shook  hands  and  treated  me  fine.  He 
taught  me  to  sign  my  name,  and  the  next  week 
I  went  with  him  to  an  office  and  signed  some 
paper,  and  then  I  could  vote.  I  voted  as  I 
was  told,  and  then  they  got  me  back  into  the 
yards  to  work,  because  one  big  politician  owns 
stock  in  one  of  those  houses.  Then  I  felt  that 
I  was  getting  in  beside  the  game.  I  was  in  a 
[28] 


STORY    OF    A    LITHUANIAN 

combine  like  other  sharp  men.  Even  when 
work  was  slack  I  was  all  right,  because  they 
got  me  a  job  in  the  street  cleaning  department. 
I  felt  proud,  and  I  went  to  the  back  room  in 
Jonidas's  saloon  and  got  him  to  write  a  letter 
to  Alexandria  to  tell  her  she  must  come  soon 
and  be  my  wife. 

But  this  was  just  the  trouble.  All  of  us 
were  telling  our  friends  to  come  soon.  Soon 
they  came — even  thousands.  The  employers 
in  the  yard  liked  this,  because  those  sharp  fore 
men  are  inventing  new  machines  and  the  work 
is  easier  to  learn,  and  so  these  slow  Lithuanians 
and  even  green  girls  can  learn  to  do  it,  and 
then  the  Americans  and  Germans  and  Irish  are 
put  out  and  the  employer  saves  money,  be 
cause  the  Lithuanians  work  cheaper.  This 
was  why  the  American  labor  unions  began  to 
organize  us  all  just  the  same  as  they  had  or 
ganized  the  Bohemians  and  Poles  before  us. 

Well,  we  were  glad  to  be  organized.  We 
had  learned  that  in  Chicago  every  man  must 
push  himself  always,  and  Jonidas  had  taught 
us  how  much  better  we  could  push  ourselves 
by  getting  into  a  combine.  Now,  we  saw  that 
this  union  was  the  best  combine  for  us,  because 
it  was  the  only  combine  that  could  say,  "  It 
is  our  business  to  raise  your  wages." 

But  that  Jonidas — he  spoilt  our  first  union. 

He  was  sharp.     First  he  got  us  to  hire  the 

room  over  his  saloon.     He  used  to  come  in  at 

our  meetings  and  sit  in  the  back  seat  and  grin. 

[29] 


UNDISTINGUISHED    AMERICANS 

There  was  an  Irishman  there  from  the  union 
headquarters,  and  he  was  trying  to  teach  us 
to  run  ourselves.  He  talked  to  a  Lithuanian, 
and  the  Lithuanian  said  it  to  us,  but  we  were 
slow  to  do  things,  and  we  were  jealous  and 
were  always  jumping  up  to  shout  and  fight. 
So  the  Irishman  used  to  wipe  his  hot,  red  face 
and  call  us  bad  names.  He  told  the  Lithuanian 
not  to  say  these  names  to  us,  but  Jonidas  heard 
them,  and  in  his  saloon,  where  we  all  went 
down  after  the  meeting  when  the  Irishman  was 
gone,  Jonidas  gave  us  free  drinks  and  then 
told  us  the  names.  I  will  not  write  them  here. 

One  night  that  Irishman  did  not  come  and 
Jonidas  saw  his  chance  and  took  the  chair. 
He  talked  very  fine  and  we  elected  him  Pres 
ident.  We  made  him  Treasurer,  too.  Down 
in  the  saloon  he  gave  us  free  drinks  and  told 
us  we  must  break  away  from  the  Irish  graft 
ers.  The  next  week  he  made  us  strike,  all  by 
himself.  We  met  twice  a  day  in  his  saloon 
and  spent  all  of  our  money  on  drinks,  and  then 
the  strike  was  over.  I  got  out  of  this  union 
after  that.  I  had  been  working  hard  in  the 
cattle  killing  room  and  I  had  a  better  job.  I 
was  called  a  cattle  butcher  now  and  I  joined 
the  Cattle  Butchers'  Union.  This  union  is 
honest  and  it  has  done  me  a  great  deal  of 
good. 

It  has  raised  my  wages.  The  man  who 
worked  at  my  job  before  the  union  came  was 
getting  through  the  year  an  average  of  $9  a 
[80] 


STORY    OF    A    LITHUANIAN 

week.  I  am  getting  $11.  In  my  first  job  I 
got  $5  a  week.  The  man  who  works  there 
now  gets  $5.75. 

It  has  given  me  more  time  to  learn  to  read 
and  speak  and  enjoy  life  like  an  American.  I 
never  work  now  from  6  A.  M  to  9  p.  M.  and 
then  be  idle  the  next  day.  I  work  now  from 
7  A.  M  to  5.30  p.  M.,  and  there  are  not  so  many 
idle  days.  The  work  is  evened  up. 

With  more  time  and  more  money  I  live 
much  better  and  I  am  very  happy.  So  is  Alex 
andria.  She  came  a  year  ago  and  has  learned 
to  speak  English  already.  Some  of  the 
women  go  to  the  big  store  the  day  they  get 
here,  when  they  have  not  enough  sense  to  pick 
out  the  clothes  that  look  right,  but  Alexandria 
waited  three  weeks  till  she  knew,  and  so  now 
she  looks  the  finest  of  any  woman  in  the  dis 
trict.  We  have  four  nice  rooms,  which  she 
keeps  very  clean,  and  she  has  flowers  growing 
in  boxes  in  the  two  front  windows.  We  do  not 
go  much  to  church,  because  the  church  seems  to 
be  too  slow.  But  we  belong  to  a  Lithuanian 
society  that  gives  two  picnics  in  summer  and 
two  big  balls  in  winter,  where  we  have  a  fine 
time.  I  go  one  night  a  week  to  the  Lithu 
anian  Concertina  Club.  On  Sundays  we  go 
on  the  trolley  out  into  the  country. 

But  we  like  to  stay  at  home  more  now  be 
cause  we  have  a  baby.     When  he  grows  up  I 
will  not  send  him  to  the  Lithuanian  Catholic 
school.     They  have  only  two  bad  rooms  and 
[31] 


UNDISTINGUISHED    AMERICANS 

two  priests  who  teach  only  in  Lithuanian 
from  prayer  books.  I  will  send  him  to  the 
American  school,  which  is  very  big  and  good. 
The  teachers  there  are  Americans  and  they 
belong  to  the  Teachers'  Labor  Union,  which 
has  three  thousand  teachers  and  belongs  to 
our  Chicago  Federation  of  Labor.  I  am  sure 
that  such  teachers  will  give  him  a  good  chance. 

Qur  union  sent  a  committee  to  Springfield 
last  year  and  they  passed  a  law  which  prevents 
boys  and  girls  below  sixteen  from  working 
in  the  stockyards. 

We  are  trying  to  make  the  employers  pay 
on  Saturday  night  in  cash.  Now  they  pay  in 
checks  and  the  men  have  to  get  money  the 
same  night  to  buy  things  for  Sunday,  and  the 
saloons  cash  checks  by  thousands.  You  have 
to  take  one  drink  to  have  the  check  cashed. 
It  is  hard  to  take  one  drink. 

The  union  is  doing  another  good  thing.  It 
is  combining  all  the  nationalities.  The  night 
I  joined  the  Cattle  Butchers'  Union  I  was 
led  into  the  room  by  a  negro  member.  With 
me  were  Bohemians,  Germans  and  Poles,  and 
Mike  Donnelly,  the  President,  is  an  Irishman. 
He  spoke  to  us  in  English  and  then  three  in 
terpreters  told  us  what  he  said.  We  swore 
to  be  loyal  to  our  union  above  everything  else 
except  the  country,  the  city  and  the  State — to 
be  faithful  to  each  other — to  protect  the 
women- workers — to  do  our  best  to  understand 
the  history  of  the  labor  movement,  and  to  do 
[32] 


STORY    OF    A    LITHUANIAN 

all  we  could  to  help  it  on.  Since  then  I  have 
gone  there  every  two  weeks  and  I  help  the 
movement  by  being  an  interpreter  for  the 
other  Lithuanians  who  come  in.  That  is  why 
I  have  learned  to  speak  and  write  good  Eng 
lish.  The  others  do  not  need  me  long.  They 
soon  learn  English,  too,  and  when  they  have 
done  that  they  are  quickly  becoming  Amer 
icans. 

But  the  best  thing  the  union  does  is  to  make 
me  feel  more  independent.  I  do  not  have  to 
pay  to  get  a  job  and  I  cannot  be  discharged 
unless  I  am  no  good.  For  almost  the  whole 
30,000  men  and  women  are  organized  now  in 
some  one  of  our  unions  and  they  all  are 
directed  by  our  central  council.  No  man 
knows  what  it  means  to  be  sure  of  his  job  un 
less  he  has  been  fired  like  I  was  once  without 
any  reason  being  given. 

So  this  is  why  I  joined  the  labor  union. 
There  are  many  better  stories  than  mine,  for 
my  story  is  very  common.  There  are  thou 
sands  of  immigrants  like  me.  Over  300,000 
immigrants  have  been  organized  in  the  last 
three  years  by  the  American  Federation  of 
Labor.  The  immigrants  are  glad  to  be  or 
ganized  if  the  leaders  are  as  honest  as  Mike 
Donnelly  is.  You  must  get  money  to  live 
well,  and  to  get  money  you  must  combine.  I 
cannot  bargain  alone  with  the  Meat  Trust. 
I  tried  it  and  it  does  not  work. 

[33] 


CHAPTER   II 

THE     LIFE     STORY     OF     A     POLISH 
SWEATSHOP     GIRL 

Sadie  Frowne  is  the  real  name  of  the  sixteen-year-old  girl 
whose  story  follows.  It  was  dictated  by  her  to  Mr.  Sydney  Reid, 
who  has  also  procured  many  of  the  other  life  stories  for  this  vol 
ume,  and  was  afterward  read  over  to  herself  and  relatives  and 
pronounced  accurate  in  all  respects.  Brownsville  is  the  Jewish 
sweatshop  district  of  Brooklyn,  N.  Y. 

MY  mother  was  a  tall,  handsome,  dark  com- 
plexioned  woman  with  red  cheeks, 
large  brown  eyes  and  a  great  quantity  of 
jet  black,  wavy  hair.  She  was  well  educated, 
being  able  to  talk  in  Russian,  German,  Polish 
and  French,  and  even  to  read  English  print, 
though  of  course  she  did  not  know  what 
it  meant.  She  kept  a  little  grocer's  shop  in 
the  little  village  where  we  lived  at  first.  That 
was  in  Poland,  somewhere  on  the  frontier,  and 
mother  had  charge  of  a  gate  between  the 
countries,  so  that  everybody  who  came  through 
the  gate  had  to  show  her  a  pass.  She  was 
much  looked  up  to  by  the  people,  who  used  to 
come  and  ask  her  for  advice.  Her  word  was 
like  law  among  them. 

She  had  a  wagon  in  which  she  used  to  drive 
about  the  country,  selling  her  groceries,  and 
[34] 


STORY    OF    A    POLISH    GIRL 

sometimes  she  worked  in  the  fields  with  my 
father. 

The  grocer's  shop  was  only  one  story  high, 
and  had  one  window,  with  very  small  panes  of 
glass.  We  had  two  rooms  behind  it,  and  were 
happy  while  my  father  lived,  although  we  had 
to  work  very  hard.  By  the  time  I  was  six  years 
of  age  I  was  able  to  wash  dishes  and  scrub 
floors,  and  by  the  time  I  was  eight  I  attended 
to  the  shop  while  my  mother  was  away  driving 
her  wagon  or  working  in  the  fields  with  my 
father.  She  was  strong  and  could  work  like 
a  man. 

When  I  was  a  little  more  than  ten  years  of 
age  my  father  died.  He  was  a  good  man  and 
a  steady  worker,  and  we  never  knew  what  it 
was  to  be  hungry  while  he  lived.  After  he 
died  troubles  began,  for  the  rent  of  our  shop 
was  about  $6  a  month  and  then  there  \vere  food 
and  clothes  to  provide.  We  needed  little,  it 
is  true,  but  even  soup,  black  bread  and  onions 
we  could  not  always  get. 

We  struggled  along  till  I  was  nearly  thir 
teen  years  of  age  and  quite  handy  at  house 
work  and  shop-keeping,  so  far  as  I  could  learn 
them  there.  But  we  fell  behind  in  the  rent 
and  mother  kept  thinking  more  and  more  that 
we  should  have  to  leave  Poland  and  go  across 
the  sea  to  America  where  we  heard  it  was 
much  easier  to  make  money.  Mother  wrote 
to  Aunt  Fanny,  who  lived  in  New  York,  and 
told  her  how  hard  it  was  to  live  in  Poland, 
[85] 


UNDISTINGUISHED    AMERICANS 

and  Aunt  Fanny  advised  her  to  come  and 
bring  me.  I  was  out  at  service  at  this  time 
and  mother  thought  she  would  leave  me — as  I 
had  a  good  place — and  come  to  this  country 
alone,  sending  for  me  afterward.  But  Aunt 
Fanny  would  not  hear  of  this.  She  said  we 
should  both  come  at  once,  and  she  went  around 
among  our  relatives  in  New  York  and  took  up 
a  subscription  for  our  passage. 

We  came  by  steerage  on  a  steamship  in  a 
very  dark  place  that  smelt  dreadfully.  There 
were  hundreds  of  other  people  packed  in  with 
us,  men,  women  and  children,  and  almost  all 
of  them  were  sick.  It  took  us  twelve  days  to 
cross  the  sea,  and  we  thought  we  should  die, 
but  at  last  the  voyage  was  over,  and  we  came 
up  and  saw  the  beautiful  bay  and  the  big 
woman  with  the  spikes  on  her  head  and  the 
lamp  that  is  lighted  at  night  in  her  hand  ( God 
dess  of  Liberty) . 

Aunt  Fanny  and  her  husband  met  us  at  the 
gate  of  this  country  and  were  very  good  to 
us,  and  soon  I  had  a  place  to  live  out  ( domestic 
servant),  while  my  mother  got  work  in  a  fac 
tory  making  white  goods. 

I  was  only  a  little  over  thirteen  years  of  age 
and  a  greenhorn,  so  I  received  $9  a  month  and 
board  and  lodging,  which  I  thought  was  doing 
well.  Mother,  who,  as  I  have  said,  was  very 
clever,  made  $9  a  week  on  white  goods,  which 
means  all  sorts  of  underclothing,  and  is  high 
class  work. 

[36] 


STORY    OF    A    POLISH    GIRL 

But  mother  had  a  very  gay  disposition. 
She  liked  to  go  around  and  see  everything, 
and  friends  took  her  about  New  York  at  night 
and  she  caught  a  bad  cold  and  coughed  and 
coughed.  She  really  had  hasty  consumption, 
but  she  didn't  know  it,  and  I  didn't  know  it, 
and  she  tried  to  keep  on  working,  but  it  was  no 
use.  She  had  not  the  strength.  Two  doctors 
attended  her,  but  they  could  do  nothing,  and 
at  last  she  died  and  I  was  left  alone.  I  had 
saved  money  while  out  at  service,  but  mother's 
sickness  and  funeral  swept  it  all  away  and  now 
I  had  to  begin  all  over  again. 

Aunt  Fanny  had  always  been  anxious  for 
me  to  get  an  education,  as  I  did  not  know  how 
to  read  or  write,  and  she  thought  that  was 
wrong.  Schools  are  different  in  Poland 
from  what  they  are  in  this  country,  and  I  was 
always  too  busy  to  learn  to  read  and  write.  So 
when  mother  died  I  thought  I  would  try  to 
learn  a  trade  and  then  I  could  go  to  school  at 
night  and  learn  to  speak  the  English  language 
well. 

So  I  went  to  work  in  Allen  street  (Man 
hattan)  in  what  they  call  a  sweatshop,  making 
skirts  by  machine.  I  was  new  at  the  work  and 
the  foreman  scolded  me  a  great  deal. 

"  Now,  then,"  he  would  say,  "  this  place  is 
not  for  you  to  be  looking  around  in.  At 
tend  to  your  work.  That  is  what  you  have 
to  do. 

I  did  not  know  at  first  that  you  must  not 
[37] 


UNDISTINGUISHED    AMERICANS 

look  around  and  talk,  and  I  made  many  mis 
takes  with  the  sewing,  so  that  I  was  often 
called  a  "  stupid  animal."  But  I  made  $4  a 
week  by  working  six  days  in  the  week.  For 
there  are  two  Sabbaths  here — our  own  Sab 
bath,  that  comes  on  a  Saturday,  and  the  Chris 
tian  Sabbath  that  comes  on  Sunday.  It  is 
against  our  law  to  work  on  our  own  Sabbath, 
so  we  work  on  their  Sabbath. 

In  Poland  I  and  my  father  and  mother  used 
to  go  to  the  synagogue  on  the  Sabbath,  but 
here  the  women  don't  go  to  the  synagogue 
much,  though  the  men  do.  They  are  shut  up 
working  hard  all  the  week  long  and  when  the 
Sabbath  comes  they  like  to  sleep  long  in  bed 
and  afterward  they  must  go  out  where  they 
can  breathe  the  air.  The  rabbis  are  strict  here, 
but  not  so  strict  as  in  the  old  country. 

I  lived  at  this  time  with  a  girl  named  Ella, 
who  worked  in  the  same  factory  and  made  $5 
a  week.  We  had  the  room  all  to  ourselves, 
paying  $1.50  a  week  for  it,  and  doing  light 
housekeeping.  It  was  in  Allen  street,  and  the 
window  looked  out  of  the  back,  which  was 
good,  because  there  was  an  elevated  railroad  in 
front,  and  in  summer  time  a  great  deal  of  dust 
and  dirt  came  in  at  the  front  windows.  We 
were  on  the  fourth  story  and  could  see  all  that 
was  going  on  in  the  back  rooms  of  the  houses 
behind  us,  and  early  in  the  morning  the  sun 
used  to  come  in  our  window. 

We  did  our  cooking  on  an  oil  stove,  and 
[88] 


STORY    OF    A    POLISH    GIRL 

lived  well,  as  this  list  of  our  expenses  for  one 
week  will  show: 

ELLA  AND  SADIE  FOR  FOOD  (ONE  WEEK) 

Tea   $0.06 

Cocoa    10 

Bread  and  rolls 40 

Canned  vegetables 20 

Potatoes    10 

Milk    21 

Fruit    20 

Butter 15 

Meat 60 

Fish 15 

Laundry 25 

Total    $2.42 

Add  rent  .  1.50 


Grand  total    $3.92 

Of  course,  we  could  have  lived  cheaper,  but 
we  are  both  fond  of  good  things  and  ^  felt  that 
we  could  afford  them.  w-  *t*~*f~*'  • 

We  paid  18  cents  for  a  half  pound  of  tea 
so  as  to  get  it  good,  and  it  lasted  us  three 
weeks,  because  we  had  cocoa  for  breakfast. 
We  paid  5  cents  for  six  rolls  and  5  cents  a  loaf 
for  bread,  which  was  the  best  quality.  Oat 
meal  cost  us  10  cents  for  three  and  one-half 
pounds,  and  we  often  had  it  in  the  morning, 
or  Indian  meal  porridge  in  the  place  of  it, 
costing  about  the  same.  Half  a  dozen  eggs 
cost  about  13  cents  on  an  average,  and  we 
[89] 


UNDISTINGUISHED    AMERICANS 

could  get  all  the  meat  we  wanted  for  a  good 
hearty  meal  for  20  cents — two  pounds  of 
chops,  or  a  steak,  or  a  bit  of  veal,  or  a  neck  of 
lamb — something  like  that.  Fish  included 
butter  fish,  porgies,  codfish  and  smelts,  aver 
aging  about  8  cents  a  pound. 

Some  people  who  buy  at  the  last  of  the  mar 
ket,  when  the  men  with  the  carts  want  to  go 
home,  can  get  things  very  cheap,  but  they  are 
likely  to  be  stale,  and  we  did  not  often  do  that 
with  fish,  fresh  vegetables,  fruit,  milk  or  meat. 
Things  that  kept  well  we  did  buy  that  way  and 
got  good  bargains.  I  got  thirty  potatoes  for 
10  cents  one  time,  though  generally  I  could 
not  get  more  than  fifteen  of  them  for  that 
amount.  Tomatoes,  onions  and  cabbages,  too, 
we  bought  that  way  and  did  well,  and  we  found 
a  factory  where  we  could  buy  the  finest  broken 
crackers  for  3  cents  a  pound,  and  another 
place  where  we  got  broken  candy  for  10  cents 
a  pound.  Our  cooking  was  done  on  an  oil 
stove,  and  the  oil  for  the  stove  and  the  lamp 
cost  us  10  cents  a  week. 

It  cost  me  $2  a  week  to  live,  and  I  had  a 
dollar  a  week  to  spend  on  clothing  and  pleas 
ure,  and  saved  the  other  dollar.  I  went  to 
night  school,  but  it  was  hard  work  learning 
at  first  as  I  did  not  know  much  English. 

Two   years    ago    I    came   to    Brownsville, 

where  so  many  of  my  people  are,  and  where  I 

have  friends.     I  got  work  in  a  factory  making 

underskirts — all   sorts   of  cheap  underskirts, 

[40] 


STORY    OF    A    POLISH    GIRL 

like  cotton  and  calico  for  the  summer  and 
woolen  for  the  winter,  but  never  the  silk,  satin 
or  velvet  underskirts.  I  earned  $4.50  a  week 
and  lived  on  $2  a  week,  the  same  as  before. 

I  got  a  room  in  the  house  of  some  friends 
who  lived  near  the  factory.  I  pay  $1  a  week 
for  the  room  and  am  allowed  to  do  light  house 
keeping — that  is,  cook  my  meals  in  it.  I  get 
my  own  breakfast  in  the  morning,  just  a  cup 
of  coffee  and  a  roll,  and  at  noon  time  I  come 
home  to  dinner  and  take  a  plate  of  soup  and  a 
slice  of  bread  with  the  lady  of  the  house.  My 
food  for  a  week  costs  a  dollar,  just  as  it  did 
in  Allen  street,  and  I  have  the  rest  of  my 
money  to  do  as  I  like  with.  I  am  earning 
$5.50  a  week  now,  and  will  probably  get 
another  increase  soon. 

It  isn't  piecework  in  our  factory,  but  one  is 
paid  by  the  amount  of  work  done  just  the 
same.  So  it  is  like  piecework.  All  the  hands 
get  different  amounts,  some  as  low  as  $3.50 
and  some  of  the  men  as  high  as  $16  a  week. 
The  factory  is  in  the  third  story  of  a  brick 
building.  It  is  in  a  room  twenty  feet  long 
and  fourteen  broad.  There  are  fourteen 
machines  in  it.  I  and  the  daughter  of  the 
people  with  whom  I  live  work  two  of  these 
machines.  The  other  operators  are  all  men, 
some  young  and  some  old. 

At  first  a  few  of  the  young  men  were  rude. 
When  they  passed  me  they  would  touch  my 
hair  and  talk  about  my  eyes  and  my  red 
[41] 


UNDISTINGUISHED    AMERICANS 

cheeks,  and  make  jokes.  I  cried  and  said  that 
if  they  did  not  stop  I  would  leave  the  place. 
The  boss  said  that  that  should  not  be,  that  no 
one  must  annoy  me.  Some  of  the  other  men 
stood  up  for  me,  too,  especially  Henry,  who 
said  two  or  three  times  that  he  wanted  to  fight. 
Now  the  men  all  treat  me  very  nicely.  It  was 
just  that  some  of  them  did  not  know  better, 
not  being  educated. 

Henry  is  tall  and  dark,  and  he  has  a  small 
mustache.  His  eyes  are  brown  and  large. 
He  is  pale  and  much  educated,  having  been  to 
school.  He  knows  a  great  many  things  and 
has  some  money  saved.  I  think  nearly  $400. 
He  is  not  going  to  be  in  a  sweatshop  all  the 
time,  but  will  soon  be  in  the  real  estate  busi 
ness,  for  a  lawyer  that  knows  him  well  has 
promised  to  open  an  office  and  pay  him  to 
manage  it. 

Henry  has  seen  me  home  every  night  for  a 
long  time  and  makes  love  to  me.  He  wants 
me  to  marry  him,  but  I  am  not  seventeen  yet, 
and  I  think  that  is  too  young.  He  is  only 
nineteen,  so  we  can  wait. 

I  have  been  to  the  fortune  teller's  three  or 
four  times,  and  she  always  tells  me  that  though 
I  have  had  such  a  lot  of  trouble  I  am  to  be  very 
rich  and  happy.  I  believe  her  because  she  has 
told  me  so  many  things  that  have  come  true. 
So  I  will  keep  on  working  in  the  factory  for  a 
time.  Of  course  it  is  hard,  but  I  would  have 
to  work  hard  even  if  I  was  married. 
[421 


STORY    OF    A    POLISH    GIRL 

I  get  up  at  half-past  five  o'clock  every 
morning  and  make  myself  a  cup  of  coffee  on 
the  oil  stove.  I  eat  a  bit  of  bread  and  perhaps 
some  fruit  and  then  go  to  work.  Often  I  get 
there  soon  after  six  o'clock  so  as  to  be  in  good 
time,  though  the  factory  does  not  open  till 
seven.  I  have  heard  that  there  is  a  sort  of 
clock  that  calls  you  at  the  very  time  you  want 
to  get  up,  but  I  can't  believe  that  because  I 
don't  see  how  the  clock  would  know. 

At  seven  o'clock  we  all  sit  down  to  our 
machines  and  the  boss  brings  to  each  one  the 
pile  of  work  that  he  or  she  is  to  finish  during 
the  day,  what  they  call  in  English  their  "  stint." 
This  pile  is  put  down  beside  the  machine  and 
as  soon  as  a  skirt  is  done  it  is  laid  on  the  other 
side  of  the  machine.  Sometimes  the  work  is 
not  all  finished  by  six  o'clock  and  then  the  one 
who  is  behind  must  work  overtime.  Some 
times  one  is  finished  ahead  of  time  and  gets 
away  at  four  or  five  o'clock,  but  generally  we 
are  not  done  till  six  o'clock. 

The  machines  go  like  mad  all  day,  because 
the  faster  you  work  the  more  money  you  get. 
Sometimes  in  my  haste  I  get  my  finger  caught 
and  the  needle  goes  right  through  it.  It  goes 
so  quick,  though,  that  it  does  not  hurt  much.  I 
bind  the  finger  up  with  a  piece  of  cotton  and 
go  on  working.  We  all  have  accidents  like 
that.  Where  the  needle  goes  through  the  nail 
it  makes  a  sore  finger,  or  where  it  splinters  a 
bone  it  does  much  harm.  Sometimes  a  finger 
[43] 


UNDISTINGUISHED    AMERICANS 

has  to  come  off.  Generally,  though,  one  can  be 
cured  by  a  salve. 

All  the  time  we  are  working  the  boss  walks 
about  examining  the  finished  garments  and 
making  us  do  them  over  again  if  they  are  not 
just  right.  So  we  have  to  be  careful  as  well  as 
swift.  But  I  am  getting  so  good  at  the  work 
that  within  a  year  I  will  be  making  $7  a  week, 
and  then  I  can  save  at  least  $3.50  a  week.  I 
have  over  $200  saved  now. 

The  machines  are  all  run  by  foot-power, 
and  at  the  end  of  the  day  one  feels  so  weak 
that  there  is  a  great  temptation  to  lie  right 
down  and  sleep.  But  you  must  go  out  and 
get  air,  and  have  some  pleasure.  So  instead 
of  lying  down  I  go  out,  generally  with  Henry. 
Sometimes  we  go  to  Coney  Island,  where 
there  are  good  dancing  places,  and  sometimes 
we  go  to  Ulmer  Park  to  picnics.  I  am  very 
fond  of  dancing,  and,  in  fact,  all  sorts  of 
pleasure.  I  go  to  the  theater  quite  often,  and 
like  those  plays  that  make  you  cry  a  great  deal. 
"  The  Two  Orphans  "  is  good.  Last  time  I 
saw  it  I  cried  all  night  because  of  the  hard 
times  that  the  children  had  in  the  play.  I  am 
going  to  see  it  again  when  it  comes  here. 

For  the  last  two  winters  I  have  been  going 
to  night  school.  I  have  learned  reading,  writ 
ing  and  arithmetic.  I  can  read  quite  well  in 
English  now  and  I  look  at  the  newspapers 
every  day.  I  read  English  books,  too,  some- 
[44] 


STORY    OF    A    POLISH    GIRL 

times.  The  last  one  that  I  read  was  "  A  Mad 
Marriage,"  by  Charlotte  Braeme.  She's  a 
grand  writer  and  makes  things  just  like  real 
to  you.  You  feel  as  if  you  were  the  poor  girl 
yourself  going  to  get  married  to  a  rich  duke. 

I  am  going  back  to  night  school  again  this 
winter.  Plenty  of  my  friends  go  there. 
Some  of  the  women  in  my  class  are  more  than 
forty  years  of  age.  Like  me,  they  did  not 
have  a  chance  to  learn  anything  in  the  old 
country.  It  is  good  to  have  an  education;  it 
makes  you  feel  higher.  Ignorant  people  are 
all  low.  People  say  now  that  I  am  clever  and 
fine  in  conversation. 

We  recently  finished  a  strike  in  our  business. 
It  spread  all  over  and  the  United  Brotherhood 
of  Garment  Workers  was  in  it.  That  takes 
in  the  cloakmakers,  coatmakers,  and  all  the 
others.  We  struck  for  shorter  hours,  and 
after  being  out  four  weeks  won  the  fight. 
We  only  have  to  work  nine  and  a  half  hours 
a  day  and  we  get  the  same  pay  as  before.  So 
the  union  does  good  after  all  in  spite  of  wThat 
some  people  say  against  it — that  it  just  takes 
our  money  and  does  nothing. 

I  pay  25  cents  a  month  to  the  union,  but  I 
do  not  begrudge  that  because  it  is  for  our  ben 
efit.  The  next  strike  is  going  to  be  for  a  raise 
of  wages,  which  we  all  ought  to  have.  But 
though  I  belong  to  the  Union  I  am  not  a  So 
cialist  or  an  Anarchist.  I  don't  know  exactly 
[45] 


UNDISTINGUISHED    AMERICANS 

what  those  things  mean.  There  is  a  little  ex 
pense  for  charity,  too.  If  any  worker  is  in 
jured  or  sick  we  all  give  money  to  help. 

Some  of  the  women  blame  me  very  much 
because  I  spend  so  much  money  on  clothes. 
They  say  that  instead  of  a  dollar  a  week  I 
ought  not  to  spend  more  than  twenty-five 
cents  a  week  on  clothes,  and  that  I  should  save 
the  rest.  But  a  girl  must  have  clothes  if  she 
is  to  go  into  good  society  at  Ulmer  Park  or 
Coney  Island  or  the  theater.  Those  who 
blame  me  are  the  old  country  people  who  have 
old-fashioned  notions,  but  the  people  who 
have  been  here  a  long  time  know  better.  A 
girl  who  does  not  dress  well  is  stuck  in  a  cor 
ner,  even  if  she  is  pretty,  and  Aunt  Fanny 
says  that  I  do  just  right  to  put  on  plenty  of 
style. 

I  have  many  friends  and  we  often  have 
jolly  parties.  Many  of  the  young  men  like 
to  talk  to  me,  but  I  don't  go  out  with  any  ex 
cept  Henry. 

Lately  he  has  been  urging  me  more  and 
more  to  get  married — but  I  think  I'll  wait. 


[46] 


CHAPTER    III 

THE     LIFE     STORY     OF     AN     ITALIAN 
BOOTBLACK 

Rocco  Corresca  is  the  official  name  of  the  young  bootblack 
who  is  the  hero  of  this  chapter,  although  he  is  known  to  most 
of  his  friends  and  patrons  as  "Joe."  He  claims  that  he  has 
always  been  called  Rocco  but  that  the  name  Corresca  was  given 
him  when  he  went  aboard  the  ship  that  brought  him  to  America. 
It  was  thus  entered  on  the  steerage  list  and  he  has  since  kept  it. 

WHEN  I  was  a  very  small  boy  I  lived  in 
Italy  in  a  large  house  with  many  other 
small  boys,  who  were  all  dressed  alike  and  were 
taken  care  of  by  some  nuns.  It  was  a  good 
place,  situated  on  the  side  of  the  mountain, 
where  grapes  were  growing  and  melons  and 
oranges  and  plums. 

They  taught  us  our  letters  and  how  to  pray 
and  say  the  catechism,  and  we  worked  in  the 
fields  during  the  middle  of  the  day.  We 
always  had  enough  to  eat  and  good  beds  to 
sleep  in  at  night,  and  sometimes  there  were 
feast  days,  when  we  marched  about  wearing 
flowers. 

Those  were  good  times  and  they  lasted  till 
I  was  nearly  eight  years  of  age.  Then  an 
old  man  came  and  said  he  was  my  grand 
father.  He  showed  some  papers  and  cried 
[47] 


UNDISTINGUISHED    AMERICANS 

over  me  and  said  that  the  money  had  come 
at  last  and  now  he  could  take  me  to  his 
beautiful  home.  He  seemed  very  glad  to 
see  me  and  after  they  looked  at  his  papers 
he  took  me  away  and  we  went  to  the  big 
city — Naples  He  kept  talking  about  his 
beautiful  house,  but  when  we  got  there  it  was 
a  dark  cellar  that  he  lived  in  and  I  did  not 
like  it  at  all.  Very  rich  people  were  on  the 
first  floor.  They  had  carriages  and  servants 
and  music  and  plenty  of  good  things  to  eat, 
but  we  were  down  below  in  the  cellar  and  had 
nothing.  There  were  four  other  boys  in  the 
cellar  and  the  old  man  said  they  were  all  my 
brothers.  All  were  larger  than  I  and  they 
beat  me  at  first  till  one  day  Francesco  said  that 
they  should  not  beat  me  any  more,  and  then 
Paolo,  who  was  the  largest  of  all,  fought  him 
till  Francesco  drew  a  knife  and  gave  him  a  cut. 
Then  Paolo,  too,  got  a  knife  and  said  that 
he  would  kill  Francesco,  but  the  old  man 
knocked  them  both  down  with  a  stick  and  took 
their  knives  away  and  gave  them  beatings. 

Each  morning  we  boys  all  went  out  to  beg 
and  we  begged  all  day  near  the  churches  and 
at  night  near  the  theaters,  running  to  the  car 
riages  and  opening  the  doors  and  then  getting 
in  the  way  of  the  people  so  that  they  had  to 
give  us  money  or  walk  over  us.  The  old  man 
often  watched  us  and  at  night  he  took  all  the 
money,  except  when  we  could  hide  something. 

We  played  tricks  on  the  people,  for  when 
[48] 


STORY    OF    AN    ITALIAN    BOOTBLACK 

we  saw  some  coming  that  we  thought  were 
rich  I  began  to  cry  and  covered  my  face  and 
stood  on  one  foot,  and  the  others  gathered 
around  me  and  said : 

"Don't  cry!     Don't  cry!" 

Then  the  ladies  would  stop  and  ask:  "  What 
is  he  crying  about?  What  is  the  matter,  little 
boy? " 

Francesco  or  Paolo  would  answer:  "He  is 
very  sad  because  his  mother  is  dead  and  they 
have  laid  her  in  the  grave." 

Then  the  ladies  would  give  me  money  and 
the  others  would  take  most  of  it  from  me. 

The  old  man  told  us  to  follow  the  Ameri 
cans  and  the  English  people,  as  they  were  all 
rich,  and  if  we  annoyed  them  enough  they 
would  give  us  plenty  of  money.  He  taught 
us  that  if  a  young  man  was  walking  with  a 
young  woman  he  would  always  give  us  silver 
because  he  would  be  ashamed  to  let  the  young 
woman  see  him  give  us  less.  There  wras  also 
a  great  church  where  sick  people  were  cured 
by  the  saints,  and  when  they  came  out  they 
were  so  glad  that  they  gave  us  money. 

Begging  was  not  bad  in  the  summer  time 
because  we  went  all  over  the  streets  and  there 
was  plenty  to  see,  and  if  we  got  much  money 
we  could  spend  some  buying  things  to  eat. 
The  old  man  knew  we  did  that.  He  used  to 
feel  us  and  smell  us  to  see  if  we  had  eaten  any 
thing,  and  he  often  beat  us  for  eating  when  we 
had  not  eaten. 

[49] 


UNDISTINGUISHED    AMERICANS 

Early  in  the  morning  we  had  breakfast  of 
black  bread  rubbed  over  with  garlic  or  with  a 
herring  to  give  it  a  flavor.  The  old  man 
would  eat  the  garlic  or  the  herring  himself, 
but  he  would  rub  our  bread  with  it,  which  he 
said  was  as  good.  He  told  us  that  boys  should 
not  be  greedy  and  that  it  was  good  to  fast  and 
that  all  the  saints  had  fasted.  He  had  a  fig 
ure  of  a  saint  in  one  corner  of  the  cellar  and 
prayed  night  and  morning  that  the  saint  would 
help  him  to  get  money.  He  made  us  pray, 
too,  for  he  said  that  it  was  good  luck  to  be 
religious. 

We  used  to  sleep  on  the  floor,  but  often  we 
could  not  sleep  much  because  men  came  in 
very  late  at  night  and  played  cards  with  the 
old  man.  He  sold  them  wine  from  a  barrel 
that  stood  on  one  end  of  the  table  that  was 
there,  and  if  they  drank  much  he  won  their 
money.  One  night  he  won  so  much  that  he 
was  glad  and  promised  the  saint  some  candles 
for  his  altar  in  the  church.  But  that  was  to 
get  more  money.  Two  nights  after  that  the 
same  men  who  had  lost  the  money  came  back 
and  said  that  they  wanted  to  play  again. 
They  were  very  friendly  and  laughing,  but 
they  won  all  the  money  and  the  old  man  said 
they  were  cheating.  So  they  beat  him  and 
went  away.  When  he  got  up  again  he  took 
a  stick  and  knocked  down  the  saint's  figure 
and  said  that  he  would  give  no  more  candles. 

I  was  with  the  old  man  for  three  years.  I 
[50] 


STORY    OF    AN    ITALIAN    BOOTBLACK 

don't  believe  that  he  was  my  grandfather, 
though  he  must  have  known  something  about 
me  because  he  had  those  papers. 

It  was  very  hard  in  the  winter  time  for  we 
had  no  shoes  and  we  shivered  a  great  deal. 
The  old  man  said  that  we  were  no  good,  that 
we  were  ruining  him,  that  we  did  not  bring  in 
enough  money.  He  told  me  that  I  was  fat 
and  that  people  would  not  give  money  to  fat 
beggars.  He  beat  me,  too,  because  I  didn't 
like  to  steal,  as  I  had  heard  it  was  wrong. 

"  Ah!  "  said  he,  "  that  is  what  they  taught 
you  at  that  place,  is  it?  To  disobey  your 
grandfather  that  fought  with  Garibaldi! 
That  is  a  fine  religion!  " 

The  others  all  stole  as  well  as  begged,  but 
I  didn't  like  it  and  Francesco  didn't  like  it 
either. 

Then  the  old  man  said  to  me :  "  If  you  don't 
want  to  be  a  thief  you  can  be  a  cripple.  That 
is  an  easy  life  and  they  make  a  great  deal  of 
money." 

I  was  frightened  then,  and  that  night  I 
heard  him  talking  to  one  of  the  men  that  came 
to  see  him.  He  asked  how  much  he  would 
charge  to  make  me  a  good  cripple  like  those 
that  crawl  about  the  church.  They  had  a  dis 
pute,  but  at  last  they  agreed  and  the  man  said 
that  I  should  be  made  so  that  people  would 
shudder  and  give  me  plenty  of  money. 

I  was  much  frightened,  but  I  did  not  make 
a  sound  and  in  the  morning  I  went  out  to  beg 
[51] 


UNDISTINGUISHED    AMERICANS 

with  Francesco.  I  said  to  him:  "I  am  going 
to  run  away.  I  don't  believe  'Tony  is  my 
grandfather.  I  don't  believe  that  he  fought 
for  Garibaldi,  and  I  don't  want  to  be  a  cripple, 
no  matter  how  much  money  the  people  may 
give." 

'  Where  will  you  go?  "  Francesco  asked  me. 

"I  don't  know,"  I  said;  "somewhere." 

He  thought  awhile  and  then  he  said:  "  I  will 
go,  too." 

So  we  ran  away  out  of  the  city  and  begged 
from  the  country  people  as  we  went  along. 
We  came  to  a  village  down  by  the  sea  and  a 
long  way  from  Naples  and  there  we  found 
some  fishermen  and  they  took  us  aboard  their 
boat.  We  were  with  them  five  years,  and 
though  it  was  a  very  hard  life  we  liked  it  well 
because  there  was  always  plenty  to  eat.  Fish 
do  not  keep  long  and  those  that  we  did  not 
sell  we  ate. 

The  chief  fisherman,  whose  name  was  Cigu- 
ciano,  had  a  daughter,  Teresa,  who  was  very 
beautiful,  and  though  she  was  two  years 
younger  than  I,  she  could  cook  and  keep 
house  quite  well.  She  was  a  kind,  good  girl 
and  he  was  a  good  man.  When  we  told  him 
about  the  old  man  who  told  us  he  was  our 
grandfather,  the  fisherman  said  he  was  an  old 
rascal  who  should  be  in  prison  for  life. 
Teresa  cried  much  when  she  heard  that  he  was 
going  to  make  me  a  cripple.  Ciguciano  said 
that  all  the  old  man  had  taught  us  was  wrong— 
[52] 


STORY    OF    AN    ITALIAN    BOOTBLACK 

that  it  was  bad  to  beg,  to  steal  and  to  tell  lies. 
He  called  in  the  priest  and  the  priest  said  the 
same  thing  and  was  very  angry  at  the  old  man 
in  Naples,  and  he  taught  us  to  read  and  write 
in  the  evenings.  He  also  taught  us  our  duties 
to  the  church  and  said  that  the  saints  were 
good  and  would  only  help  men  to  do  good 
things,  and  that  it  was  a  wonder  that  lightning 
from  heaven  had  not  struck  the  old  man  dead 
when  he  knocked  down  the  saint's  figure. 

We  grew  large  and  strong  with  the  fisher 
man  and  he  told  us  that  we  were  getting  too 
big  for  him,  that  he  could  not  afford  to  pay  us 
the  money  that  we  were  worth.  He  was  a 
fine,  honest  man — one  in  a  thousand. 

Now  and  then  I  had  heard  things  about 
America — that  it  was  a  far-off  country  where 
everybody  was  rich  and  that  Italians  went 
there  and  made  plenty  of  money,  so  that  they 
could  return  to  Italy  and  live  in  pleasure  ever 
after.  One  day  I  met  a  young  man  who 
pulled  out  a  handful  of  gold  and  told  me  he 
had  made  that  in  America  in  a  few  days. 

I  said  I  should  like  to  go  there,  and  he  told 
me  that  if  I  went  he  would  take  care  of  me. 
and  see  that  I  was  safe.  I  told  Francesco  and 
he  wanted  to  go,  too.  So  we  said  good-bye  to 
our  good  friends.  Teresa  cried  and  kissed  us 
both  and  the  priest  came  and  shook  our  hands 
and  told  us  to  be  good  men,  and  that  no  matter 
where  we  went  God  and  his  saints  were  always 
near  us  and  that  if  we  lived  well  we  should  all 
[53] 


UNDISTINGUISHED    AMERICANS 

meet  again  in  heaven.  We  cried,  too,  for  it 
was  our  home,  that  place.  Ciguciano  gave  us 
money  and  slapped  us  on  the  back  and  said 
that  we  should  be  great.  But  he  felt  bad, 
too,  at  seeing  us  go  away  after  all  that  time. 

The  young  man  took  us  to  a  big  ship  and 
got  us  work  away  down  where  the  fires  are. 
We  had  to  carry  coal  to  the  place  where  it 
could  be  thrown  on  the  fires.  Francesco  and 
I  were  very  sick  from  the  great  heat  at  first 
and  lay  on  the  coal  for  a  long  time,  but  they 
threw  water  on  us  and  made  us  get  up.  We 
could  not  stand  on  our  feet  well,  for  every 
thing  was  going  around  and  we  had  no 
strength.  We  said  that  we  wished  we  had 
stayed  in  Italy  no  matter  how  much  gold  there 
was  in  America.  We  could  not  eat  for  three 
days  and  could  not  do  much  wrork.  Then  we 
got  better  and  sometimes  we  went  up  above 
and  looked  about.  There  was  no  land  any 
where  and  we  were  much  surprised.  How 
could  the  people  tell  where  to  go  when  there 
was  no  land  to  steer  by? 

We  were  so  long  on  the  water  that  we  be 
gan  to  think  we  should  never  get  to  America 
or  that,  perhaps,  there  was  not  any  such  place, 
but  at  last  we  saw  land  and  came  up  to  New 
York. 

We  were  glad  to  get  over  without  giving 

money,  but  I  have  heard  since  that  we  should 

have  been  paid  for  our  work  among  the  coal 

and  that  the  young  man  who  had  sent  us  got 

[54] 


STORY    OF   AN    ITALIAN    BOOTBLACK 

money  for  it.  We  were  all  landed  on  an  island 
and  the  bosses  there  said  that  Francesco  and  I 
must  go  back  because  we  had  not  enough 
money,  but  a  man  named  Bartolo  came  up 
and  told  them  that  we  were  brothers  and  he 
was  our  uncle  and  would  take  care  of  us.  He 
brought  two  other  men  who  swore  that  they 
knew  us  in  Italy  and  that  Bartolo  was  our 
uncle.  I  had  never  seen  any  of  them  before, 
but  even  then  Bartolo  might  be  my  uncle,  so 
I  did  not  say  anything.  The  bosses  of  the 
island  let  us  go  out  with  Bartolo  after  he  had 
made  the  oath. 

We  came  to  Brooklyn,  New  York,  to  a 
wooden  house  in  Adams  street  that  was  full 
of  Italians  from  Naples.  Bartolo  had  a  room 
on  the  third  floor  and  there  were  fifteen  men  in 
the  room,  all  boarding  with  Bartolo.  He  did 
the  cooking  on  a  stove  in  the  middle  of  the 
room  and  there  were  beds  all  around  the  sides, 
one  bed  above  another.  It  was  very  hot  in  the 
room,  but  we  were  soon  asleep,  for  we  were 
very  tired. 

The  next  morning,  early,  Bartolo  told  us 
to  go  out  and  pick  rags  and  get  bottles.  He 
gave  us  bags  and  hooks  and  showed  us  the  ash 
barrels.  On  the  streets  where  the  fine  houses 
are  the  people  are  very  careless  and  put  out 
good  things,  like  mattresses  and  umbrellas, 
clothes,  hats  and  boots.  We  brought  all  these 
to  Bartolo  and  he  made  them  new  again  and 
sold  them  on  the  sidewalk;  but  mostly  we 
[55] 


UNDISTINGUISHED    AMERICANS 

brought  rags  and  bones.  The  rags  we  had  to 
wash  in  the  back  yard  and  then  we  hung  them 
to  dry  on  lines  under  the  ceiling  in  our  room. 
The  bones  we  kept  under  the  beds  till  Bartolo 
could  find  a  man  to  buy  them. 

Most  of  the  men  in  our  room  worked  at  dig 
ging  the  sewer.  Bartolo  got  them  the  work 
and  they  paid  him  about  one-quarter  of  their 
wages.  Then  he  charged  them  for  board  and 
he  bought  the  clothes  for  them,  too.  So  they 
got  little  money  after  all. 

Bartolo  was  always  saying  that  the  rent  of 
the  room  was  so  high  that  he  could  not  make 
anything,  but  he  was  really  making  plenty. 
He  was  what  they  call  a  padrone  and  is  now  a 
very  rich  man.  The  men  that  were  living 
with  him  had  just  come  to  the  country  and 
could  not  speak  English.  They  had  all  been 
sent  by  the  young  man  we  met  in  Italy.  Bar 
tolo  told  us  all  that  we  must  work  for  him 
and  that  if  we  did  not  the  police  would  come 
and  put  us  in  prison. 

He  gave  us  very  little  money,  and  our 
clothes  were  some  of  those  that  were  found  on 
the  street.  Still  we  had  enough  to  eat  and  we 
had  meat  quite  often,  which  we  never  had  in 
Italy.  Bartolo  got  it  from  the  butcher — the 
meat  that  he  could  not  sell  to  the  other  people 
—but  it  was  quite  good  meat.  Bartolo  cooked 
it  in  the  pan  while  we  all  sat  on  our  beds  in  the 
evening.  Then  he  cut  it  into  small  bits  and 
passed  the  pan  around,  saying : 
[56] 


STORY    OF    AN    ITALIAN    BOOTBLACK 

"See  what  I  do  for  you  and  yet  you  are 
not  glad.  I  am  too  kind  a  man,  that  is  why  I 
am  so  poor." 

We  were  with  Bartolo  nearly  a  year,  but 
some  of  our  countrymen  who  had  been  in  the 
place  a  long  time  said  that  Bartolo  had  no 
right  to  us  and  we  could  get  work  for  a  dollar 
and  a  half  a  day,  which,  when  you  make  it 
lire  (reckoned  in  the  Italian  currency)  is  very 
much.  So  we  went  away  one  day  to  Newark 
and  got  work  on  the  street.  Bartolo  came 
after  us  and  make  a  great  noise,  but  the  boss 
said  that  if  he  did  not  go  away  soon  the  police 
would  have  him.  Then  he  went,  saying  that 
there  was  no  justice  in  this  country. 

We  paid  a  man  five  dollars  each  for  getting 
us  the  work  and  we  were  with  that  boss  for  six 
months.  He  was  Irish,  but  a  good  man  and 
he  gave  us  our  money  every  Saturday  night. 
We  lived  much  better  than  with  Bartolo,  and 
when  the  work  was  done  we  each  had  nearly 
$200  saved.  Plenty  of  the  men  spoke  Eng 
lish  and  they  taught  us,  and  we  taught  them 
to  read  and  write.  That  was  at  night,  for  we 
had  a  lamp  in  our  room,  and  there  were  only 
five  other  men  who  lived  in  that  room  with  us. 

We  got  up  at  half -past  five  o'clock  every 
morning  and  made  coffee  on  the  stove  and  had 
a  breakfast  of  bread  and  cheese,  onions,  garlic 
and  red  herrings.  We  went  to  work  at  seven 
o'clock  and  in  the  middle  of  the  day  we  had 
soup  and  bread  in  a  place  where  we  got  it  for 
[57] 


UNDISTINGUISHED    AMERICANS 

two  cents  a  plate.  In  the  evenings  we  had  a 
good  dinner  with  meat  of  some  kind  and  pota 
toes.  We  got  from  the  butcher  the  meat  that 
other  people  would  not  buy  because  they  said 
it  was  old,  but  they  don't  know  what  is  good. 
We  paid  four  or  five  cents  a  pound  for  it  and 
it  was  the  best,  though  I  have  heard  of  people 
paying  sixteen  cents  a  pound. 

When  the  Newark  boss  told  us  that  there 
was  no  more  work  Francesco  and  I  talked 
about  what  we  would  do  and  we  went  back 
to  Brooklyn  to  a  saloon  near  Hamilton  Ferry 
where  we  got  a  job  cleaning  it  out  and  slept  in 
a  little  room  upstairs.  There  was  a  boot 
black  named  Michael  on  the  corner  and  when 
I  had  time  I  helped  him  and  learned  the  busi 
ness.  Francesco  cooked  the  lunch  in  the  saloon 
and  he,  too,  worked  for  the  bootblack  and  we 
were  soon  able  to  make  the  best  polish. 

Then  we  thought  we  would  go  into  business 
and  we  got  a  basement  on  Hamilton  avenue, 
near  the  Ferry,  and  put  four  chairs  in  it.  We 
paid  $75  for  the  chairs  and  all  the  other  things. 
We  had  tables  and  looking  glasses  there  and 
curtains.  We  took  the  papers  that  have  the 
pictures  in  and  made  the  place  high  toned, 
Outside  we  had  a  big  sign  that  said: 


THE  BEST  SHINE   FOR  TEN   CENTS 


[68] 


STORY    OF    AN    ITALIAN    BOOTBLACK 

Men  that  did  not  want  to  pay  ten  cents 
could  get  a  good  shine  for  five  cents,  but  it  was 
not  an  oil  shine.  We  had  two  boys  helping  us 
and  paid  each  of  them  fifty  cents  a  day.  The 
rent  of  the  place  was  $20  a  month,  so  the  ex 
penses  were  very  great,  but  we  made  money 
from  the  beginning.  We  slept  in  the  base 
ment,  but  got  our  meals  in  the  saloon  till  we 
could  put  a  stove  in  our  place,  and  then  Fran 
cesco  cooked  for  us  all.  That  would  not  do, 
though,  because  some  of  our  customers  said 
that  they  did  not  like  to  smell  garlic  and  onions 
and  red  herrings.  I  thought  that  was  strange, 
but  we  had  to  do  what  the  customers  said.  So 
we  got  the  woman  who  lived  upstairs  to  give  us 
our  meals  and  paid  her  $1.50  a  week  each. 
She  gave  the  boys  soup  in  the  middle  of  the 
day — five  cents  for  two  plates. 

We  remembered  the  priest,  the  friend  of 
Ciguciano,  and  what  he  had  said  to  us  about 
religion,  and  as  soon  as  we  came  to  the  country 
we  began  to  go  to  the  Italian  church.  The 
priest  we  found  here  was  a  good  man,  but  he 
asked  the  people  for  money  for  the  church. 
The  Italians  did  not  like  to  give  because  they 
said  it  looked  like  buying  religion.  The  priest 
says  it  is  different  here  from  Italy  because  all 
the  churches  there  are  what  they  call  endowed, 
while  here  all  they  have  is  what  the  people 
give.  Of  course  I  and  Francisco  understand 
that,  but  the  Italians  who  cannot  read  and 
[59] 


UNDISTINGUISHED    AMERICANS 

write  shake  their  heads  and  say  that  it  is  wrong 
for  a  priest  to  want  money. 

We  had  said  that  when  we  saved  $1,000  each 
we  would  go  back  to  Italy  and  buy  a  farm, 
but  now  that  the  time  is  coming  we  are  so  busy 
and  making  so  much  money  that  we  think  we 
will  stay.  We  have  opened  another  parlor 
near  South  Ferry,  in  New  York.  We  have 
to  pay  $30  a  month  rent,  but  the  business  is 
very  good.  The  boys  in  this  place  charge 
sixty  cents  a  day  because  there  is  so  much 
work. 

At  first  we  did  not  know  much  of  this  coun 
try,  but  by  and  by  we  learned.  There  are 
here  plenty  of  Protestants  who  are  heretics, 
but  they  have  a  religion,  too.  Many  of  the 
finest  churches  are  Protestant,  but  they  have 
no  saints  and  no  altars,  which  seems  strange. 

These  people  are  without  a  king  such  as 
ours  in  Italy.  It  is  what  they  call  a  Republic, 
as  Garibaldi  wanted,  and  every  year  in  the  fall 
the  people  vote.  They  wanted  us  to  vote  last 
fall,  but  we  did  not.  A  man  came  and  said 
that  he  would  get  us  made  Americans  for  fifty 
cents  and  then  we  could  get  two  dollars  for 
our  votes.  I  talked  to  some  of  our  people  and 
they  told  me  that  we  should  have  to  put  a 
paper  in  a  box  telling  who  we  wanted  to  gov 
ern  us. 

I  went  with  five  men  to  the  court  and  when 
they  asked  me  how  long  I  had  been  in  the 
country  I  told  them  two  years.  Afterward 
[60] 


STORY    OF    AN    ITALIAN    BOOTBLACK 

my  countrymen  said  I  was  a  fool  and  would 
never  learn  politics. 

'  You  should  have  said  you  were  five  years 
here  and  then  we  would  swear  to  it,"  was  what 
they  told  me. 

I  and  Francesco  are  to  be  Americans  in 
three  years.  The  court  gave  us  papers  and 
said  we  must  wait  and  we  must  be  able  to  read 
some  things  and  tell  who  the  ruler  of  the  coun 
try  is. 

There  are  plenty  of  rich  Italians  here,  men 
who  a  few  years  ago  had  nothing  and  now 
have  so  much  money  that  they  could  not  count 
all  their  dollars  in  a  week.  The  richest  ones 
go  away  from  the  other  Italians  and  live  with 
the  Americans. 

We  have  joined  a  club  and  have  much  pleas 
ure  in  the  evenings.  The  club  has  rooms 
down  in  Sackett  street  and  we  meet  many 
people  and  are  learning  new  things  all  the 
time.  We  were  very  ignorant  when  we  came 
here,  but  now  we  have  learned  much. 

On  Sundays  we  get  a  horse  and  carriage 
from  the  grocer  and  go  down  to  Coney  Island. 
We  go  to  the  theaters  often,  and  other  even 
ings  we  go  to  the  houses  of  our  friends  and 
play  cards. 

I  am  now  nineteen  years  of  age  and  have 
$700  saved.  Francesco  is  twenty-one  and  has 
about  $900.  We  shall  open  some  more  par 
lors  soon.  I  know  an  Italian  who  was  a  boot 
black  ten  years  ago  and  now  bosses  bootblacks 
[61] 


UNDISTINGUISHED    AMERICANS 

all  over  the  city,  who  has  so  much  money  that 
if  it  was  turned  into  gold  it  would  weigh  more 
than  himself. 

Francesco  and  I  have  a  room  to  ourselves 
and  some  people  call  us  "  swells."  Ciguciano 
said  that  we  should  be  great  men.  Francesco 
bought  a  gold  watch  with  a  gold  chain  as  thick 
as  his  thumb.  He  is  a  very  handsome  fellow 
and  I  think  he  likes  a  young  lady  that  he  met 
at  a  picnic  out  at  Ridgewood. 

I  often  think  of  Ciguciano  and  Teresa.  He 
is  a  good  man,  one  in  a  thousand,  and  she  was 
very  beautiful.  Maybe  I  shall  write  to  them 
about  coming  to  this  country. 


[62] 


CHAPTER    IV 

THE   LIFE   STORY    OF   A   GREEK    PEDDLER 

This  chapter  is  contributed  by  a  Spartan  now  living  in  a 
suburb  near  New  York  City. 

I  WAS  born  about  forty  years  ago  in  a 
little  hamlet  among  the  mountains  of 
Laconia  in  Greece.  There  were  only  about 
200  people  in  this  place,  and  they  lived  in 
stone  huts  or  cottages,  some  of  which  were 
two  stories  high,  but  most  of  them  only  one 
story.  The  people  were  shepherds  or  small 
farmers,  with  the  exception  of  the  priest  and 
schoolmaster. 

Two  of  tha  houses  pretended  to  the  char 
acter  of  village  stores,  but  they  kept  only  the 
simplest,  cheapest  things,  and  as  a  general 
rule,  when  we  wanted  to  buy  anything  we  had 
to  go  down  to  Sparta,  the  chief  town  of  our 
State,  which  was  two  hours'  walk  away  from 
our  village.  There  was  not  even  a  blacksmith 
shop  in  our  town. 

But  the  people  did  very  well  without  shops. 
They  made  almost  everything  for  themselves. 
The  inside  of  the  cottage  consisted  of  one 
large  room  with  a  board  floor.  Sometimes 
there  were  partitions  inside  the  cottage,  mak 
ing  several  rooms,  but  everything  was  very 
[63] 


UNDISTINGUISHED    AMERICANS 

simple.  The  fireplace  at  one  end  of  the  room 
was  large  and  open;  beds  were  made  of  boards 
covered  with  hay,  and  stools  and  tables  com 
prised  about  all  the  remainder  of  the  furniture. 
Cooking  was  done  on  an  iron  tripod  with  the 
fire  underneath. 

Cotton  goods  we  bought  in  Sparta,  but  we 
seldom  bought  anything  else.  We  made  ail 
our  own  clothing,  shearing  the  sheep,  washing 
the  wool,  carding,  spinning  and  weaving  by 
hand  as  they  did  in  the  time  of  Homer.  We 
made  our  own  butter  and  our  own  wine, 
ground  our  own  wheat  and  oats  into  flour  and 
meal  and  did  our  own  baking. 

Our  farms  varied  in  size  from  ten  to  forty 
acres,  and  we  raised  on  them  such  things  as  are 
raised  here  in  America — all  the  grains  and  most 
of  the  fruits  and  vegetables.  We  plowed 
with  oxen,  thrashed  with  flails,  winnowed  by 
hand,  and  ground  our  grain  in  a  mortar. 

We  had  very  little  money,  and  so  little  use 
for  money  that  the  currency  might  almost  as 
well  have  been  the  iron  sort  of  our  remote 
forefathers. 

There  was  a  little  school  in  the  town — there 
are  schools  all  over  Greece  now — and  most  of 
the  people  could  read  and  write,  so  they  were 
not  entirely  ignorant;  yet  they  had  small 
knowledge  of  the  world,  and  there  were  many, 
especially  among  the  women,  who  knew  almost 
nothing  of  what  lay  beyond  the  boundaries  of 
their  farms. 

[64] 


STORY    OF    A    GREEK    PEDDLER 

True,  by  climbing  Mount  Taygetos,  where 
the  Spartans  used  to  expose  their  children  not 
physically  perfect,  one  could  get  a  wide  view 
of  the  surrounding  sea  with  its  ships  and  the 
shore  with  its  cities,  but  the  top  of  Taygetos 
was  a  day's  journey  from  our  village,  and  few 
of  us  had  time  or  inclination  to  make  the  trip. 

All  people  who  were  able  worked  from  sun 
rise  to  sunset,  the  men  on  their  farms  or  with 
the  sheep,  the  women  in  the  houses,  spinning, 
weaving,  making  clothes  or  baking.  If  they 
did  not  know  much  about  the  great  world,  they 
also  cared  less.  Now  and  then  some  one  went 
down  to  Sparta  and  came  home  filled  with  its 
wonders,  for  Sparta  has  15,000  inhabitants 
and  is  quite  a  bright  little  modern  city,  with 
horse  cars,  street  gas  lamps  and  a  mayor. 

Narrow  as  our  lives  might  be  considered  by 
Americans,  there  was  plenty  to  interest  us  in 
the  success  or  failure  of  our  crops  and  our 
little  plans,  and,  considering  matters  from  the 
standpoint  of  our  wants  and  our  needs,  we 
were  certainly  prosperous  and  happy.  Most 
of  us  eat  only  one  meal  a  day,  but  it  was  a 
hearty,  healthy  meal,  and  though  we  knew 
that  some  of  the  richer  people  ate  two,  the 
fashion  did  not  commend  itself  to  us.  Like 
all  Greeks,  we  were  naturally  inclined  to  tem 
perance.  There  was  no  gluttony  and  no 
drunkenness,  although  we  had  plenty  of  good 
strong  wine. 

Forty  days  of  the  year  were  saints'  days, 
[65] 


UNDISTINGUISHED    AMERICANS 

and  on  those  we  feasted  and  did  no  work. 
We  dressed  in  our  best  clothes  and,  gathering 
in  one  of  the  best  houses,  we  danced  to  the 
music  of  the  violin  and  guitar. 

Sometimes  there  came  an  election,  and  then 
the  men  always  carried  rifles  with  them  to  the 
polling  places,  and  around  their  waists  were 
sashes  stuck  full  of  daggers  and  pistols,  mak 
ing  them  look  wild  and  dangerous.  But  really 
there  was  seldom  any  fighting.  In  the  first 
place,  there  were  soldiers  around  the  polling 
places  and  the  elections  were  honest;  in  the 
second  place,  the  armed  peasants  stayed  sober, 
and  in  the  third  place,  there  was  no  stump 
speaking  such  as  here,  and  no  newspaper  at 
tacks,  where  the  candidate  of  the  opposite 
party  is  called  a  robber  and  accused  of  all 
manner  of  crimes.  Feeling  ran  high  at  our 
elections  and  partisanship  was  bitter,  but  did 
not  often  lead  to  fights,  because  there  was  no 
speaking,  no  incitement. 

The  people  are  naturally  very  peaceful. 
They  carry  arms  because  it  is  their  custom, 
coming  down  from  the  times  when  the  Turks 
were  in  the  country  and  the  Greeks  had  to 
retire  into  the  mountains  and  maintain  con 
stant  watch  in  order  to  save  themselves  and 
their  families  from  Turkish  outrage  and 
brutality. 

I  don't  know  on  what  lines  the  parties  were 
drawn,  or  what  principles  they  advocated.  I 

[66] 


STORY    OF    A    GREEK    PEDDLER 

think  that  the  difference  was  just  that  some 
were  in  power  and  some  were  out,  and  that 
those  who  were  out  wanted  to  get  in. 

All  loved  our  king  and  the  royal  family. 
Next  to  God  we  revered  the  king,  and  his 
whole  family  shared  our  love  for  him.  Greeks 
are  very  democratic,  but  the  members  of  this 
royal  family  are  fit  to  be  the  first  citizens  in  a 
pure  democracy — they  have  done  so  much  for 
the  country  and  for  all  the  people. 

As  I  said,  the  people,  in  spite  of  their  arms, 
are  very  peaceful.  There  is  no  brigandage, 
and  murder  in  our  locality  occurred  not  more 
than  once  in  ten  years.  There  used  to  be  a 
great  deal  of  what  was  called  brigandage  in 
Turkish  times,  but  it  has  all  passed  away. 
When  the  Turks  retired,  two-thirds  of  the 
land  which  had  belonged  to  Turks  came  into 
the  hands  of  the  nation,  and  since  that  time 
the  class  of  people  who  were  formerly  robbed 
and  harried  and  oppressed  until  they  were 
driven  into  brigandage  has  been  encouraged 
to  take  to  agriculture.  Now  there  is  no  more 
Government  land.  The  people  have  bought 
it  all  up,  and  although  they  have  little  money 
they  are  tolerably  happy  and  prosperous. 

On  Sundays  in  our  little  village  we  dressed 
in  our  best  clothes,  and  went  to  the  church, 
where  we  heard  the  old  priest,  whom  we  all 
respected.  There  was  only  one  church  there, 
the  Greek  Orthodox,  and  though  religion  was 
[67] 


UNDISTINGUISHED    AMERICANS 

free  and  a  man  could  worship  as  he  pleased,  or 
not  worship  at  all,  there  were  no  dissenters 
among  us. 

At  the  same  time  there  was  little  supersti 
tion,  to  the  best  of  my  knowledge.  Few  be 
lieved  in  ghosts  or  fairies,  or  any  sort  of  super 
natural  appearances;  nor  did  they  believe  in 
modern  miracles,  and  our  respect  for  the  saints 
was  for  men  who  had  laid  down  their  lives  for 
Christianity.  We  had  no  sacred  relics  that 
miraculously  restored  health,  and  knew  of 
none. 

The  only  encounter  with  the  supernatural 
that  I  ever  had  occurred  when  I  was  about  ten 
years  of  age. 

My  grandmother  needed  a  pound  of  wool  to 
finish  some  sort  of  blanket  she  was  weaving, 
and  she  sent  me  to  the  house  of  a  neighbor, 
who  lived  far  away.  I  set  out  riding  a  jackass 
and  followed  by  a  dog.  I  had  not  gone  far 
when  I  met  a  little  girl  carrying  a  cat. 

At  the  sight  of  my  dog,  down  jumped  the 
cat  and  ran  for  her  life ;  the  dog  dashed  after 
her,  I  dashed  after  dog,  the  little  girl  after 
me.  The  only  one  who  maintained  his  dignity 
was  the  jackass.  Cat,  dog  and  myself  all  fell 
into  a  stream,  and  when  I  emerged  and  pre 
sented  the  cat  to  the  little  girl  I  was  dripping. 
She  invited  me  to  her  house  to  dry,  and  there 
her  mother  fitted  me  out  with  the  clothes  of  her 
little  son,  who  had  died  a  short  time  before. 
She  said  I  looked  just  like  him,  and  tearfully 
[68] 


STORY    OF    A   GREEK    PEDDLER 

begged  me  to  stay  over  night.  I  finally  con 
sented  as  my  grandmother  would  not  expect 
me  back  the  next  day. 

She  put  me  in  the  little  boy's  bed,  and  went 
away,  after  bidding  me  good  night.  I  went 
to  sleep  immediately,  but  woke  up  later  and 
was  horrified  to  see  a  large,  round  eye  glaring 
at  me.  It  was  very  large,  about  ten  inches  in 
diameter.  I  tried  to  scream,  but  I  could  not, 
and  my  fear  was  increased  by  the  sound  of 
footsteps  coming  toward  me.  I  was  sure  it 
was  the  dead  boy  coming  to  avenge  my  taking 
his  clothes  and  bed.  Finally  I  was  able  to 
speak,  and  I  said : 

"  Don't  hurt  me;  I  am  going  away,  and  I 
will  not  take  the  clothes  with  me." 

But  the  footsteps  continued  to  come  directly 
toward  me. 

Then  I  jumped  from  my  bed  and  desper 
ately  grabbed  at  the  approaching  thing.  I 
seized  a  hairy  head  and  pair  of  horns,  and  was 
more  frightened  than  ever,  feeling  sure  that  I 
had  caught  the  devil.  But  when  the  woman 
and  the  little  girl  came  in  laughing,  with  a 
light,  the  devil  turned  into  the  pet  goat,  which 
used  to  play  with  the  little  boy.  The  round 
eye  also  turned  into  a  mirror. 

Of  the  past  of  our  country  we  knew  little. 
We  only  knew  that  once  Greece  had  been 
great,  the  light  of  the  world,  and  we  hoped 
that  the  time  was  coming  when  she  would 
again  resume  her  leadership  of  men.  There 
[69] 


UNDISTINGUISHED    AMERICANS 

were  no  ruins  and  no  legends  and  traditions 
among  us. 

The  school  in  my  little  village  had  only  four 
grades,  and  when  I  had  gone  through  those  I 
was  sent  to  Sparta  to  the  High  School.  There 
I  continued  my  education  much  as  an  Amer 
ican  boy  would  do.  Greece  has  a  fine  system 
of  schools,  established  by  the  Government. 

We  had  play  in  plenty.  We  played  with 
marbles  and  tops  and  kites,  and  we  practiced 
many  of  the  classic  sports,  like  running,  and 
pitching  flat  stones  at  a  mark,  like  quoits,  or 
throwing  the  discus.  We  were  great  hands 
at  wrestling,  and  in  certain  seasons  of  the  year 
we  hunted  and  shot  partridges,  rabbits  and 
ducks. 

When  I  had  finished  in  the  High  School,  I 
went  to  Athens,  to  an  uncle  who  was  in  the 
drug  business.  I  worked  for  him  for  a  few 
years,  and  then  had  to  enter  the  army,  where  I 
spent  two  years  in  which  there  was  nothing  of 
particular  interest. 

All  these  later  years  I  had  been  hearing 
from  America.  An  elder  brother  was  there 
who  had  found  it  a  fine  country  and  was  urg 
ing  me  to  join  him.  Fortunes  could  easily 
be  made,  he  said.  I  got  a  great  desire  to  see 
it,  and  in  one  way  and  another  I  raised  the 
money  for  fare — 250  francs — and  set  sail 
from  the  Piraeus,  the  old  port  of  Athens,  situ 
ated  five  miles  from  that  city.  The  ship  was  a 
French  liner  of  6,000  tons,  and  I  was  a  deck 
[70] 


STORY    OF    A    GREEK   PEDDLER 

passenger,  carrying  my  own  food  and  sleeping 
on  the  boards  as  long  as  we  were  in  the  Medi 
terranean  Sea,  which  was  four  days. 

As  soon  as  we  entered  the  ocean  matters 
changed  for  the  better.  I  got  a  berth  and  the 
ship  supplied  my  food.  Nothing  extraordi 
nary  occurred  on  the  voyage  and  when  I 
reached  New  York  I  got  ashore  without  any 
trouble. 

New  York  astonished  me  by  its  size  and 
magnificence,  the  buildings  shooting  up  like 
mountain  peaks,  the  bridge  hanging  in  the 
sky,  the  crowds  of  ships  and  the  elevated  rail 
ways.  I  think  that  the  elevated  railways  as 
tonished  me  more  than  anything  else. 

I  got  work  immediately  as  a  push  cart  man. 
There  was  six  of  us  in  a  company.  We  all 
lived  together  in  two  rooms  down  on  Wash 
ington  street  and  kept  the  push  carts  in  the 
cellar.  Five  of  us  took  out  carts  every  day 
and  one  was  buyer,  whom  we  called  boss.  He 
had  no  authority  over  us;  we  were  all  free. 
At  the  end  of  our  day's  work  we  all  divided 
up  our  money  even,  each  man  getting  the 
same  amount  out  of  the  common  fund — the 
boss  no  more  than  any  other. 

That  system  prevails  among  all  the  push 
cart  men  in  the  City  of  New  York — practical 
communism,  all  sharing  alike.  The  buyer  is 
chosen  by  vote. 

The  buyer  goes  to  the  markets  and  gets  the 
stock  for  the  next  day,  which  is  carried  to  the 
T711 


UNDISTINGUISHED    AMERICANS 

cellar  in  a  wagon.  Sometimes  buying  takes 
a  long  time,  if  the  price  of  fruit  is  up,  for  the 
buyer  has  to  get  things  as  cheaply  as  possible. 
Sometimes  when  prices  are  down  he  buys 
enough  for  a  week.  He  gets  the  fruit  home 
before  evening,  and  then  it  is  ready  for  the 
next  day. 

I  found  the  push  cart  work  not  unpleasant, 
so  far  as  the  work  itself  was  concerned.  I 
began  at  nine  o'clock  in  the  morning  and  quit 
about  six  o'clock  at  night.  I  could  not  speak 
English  and  did  not  know  enough  to  pay  the 
police,  so  I  was  hunted  when  I  tried  to  get 
the  good  place  like  Nassau  Street,  or  near  the 
Bridge  entrance.  Once  a  policeman  struck 
me  on  the  leg  with  his  club  so  hard  that  I  could 
not  work  for  two  weeks.  That  is  wrong  to 
strike  like  that  a  man  who  could  not  speak 
English. 

Push  cart  peddlers  who  pay  the  police, 
make  $500  to  $1,000  a  year  clear  of  board  and 
all  expenses,  and  actually  save  that  amount  in 
the  bank;  but  those  who  don't  pay  the  police 
make  from  $200  to  $300  a  year.  All  the  men 
in  the  good  places  pay  the  police.  Some  pay 
$2  a  day  each  and  some  $1  a  day,  and  from 
that  down  to  25  cents.  A  policeman  collects 
regularly,  and  we  don't  know  what  he  does 
with  the  money,  but,  of  course,  we  suspect. 
The  captain  passes  by  and  he  must  know;  the 
sergeant  comes  along  and  he  must  know. 

We  don't  care.     It  is  better  to  pay  and  have 


STORY    OF    A    GREEK    PEDDLER 

the  good  place;  we  can  afford  to  pay.  One 
day  I  made  free  and  clear  $10.25  on  eighteen 
boxes  of  cherries.  That  was  the  most  I  ever 
made  in  a  day.  That  was  after  I  paid  $1  a 
day  for  a  good  place. 

There  have  been  many  attempts  to  organize 
us  for  political  purposes,  but  all  these  have 
failed.  We  vote  as  we  please,  for  the  best 
man.  No  party  owns  us. 

I  soon  went  on  to  Chicago  and  got  work 
there  from  a  countryman  who  kept  a  fruit 
store.  He  gave  me  $12  a  month  and  my 
board,  but  he  wouldn't  teach  me  English.  I 
got  so  I  could  say  such  words  as  "  Cent  each," 
"  Five  cents  for  three,"  "  Ten  cents  a  quart," 
but  if  I  asked  the  boss  the  names  of  things  he 
would  say  never  mind,  it  was  not  good  for  me 
to  learn  English. 

I  wrote  home  to  my  uncle  in  Athens  to  send 
me  a  Greek-English  dictionary,  and  wrhen  it 
came  I  studied  it  all  the  time  and  in  three 
months  I  could  speak  English  quite  well.  I 
did  not  spend  a  cent  and  soon  found  a  better 
job,  getting  $17  a  month  and  my  board.  In 
a  little  while  I  had  $106  saved,  and  I  opened  a 
little  fruit  store  of  my  own  near  the  Academy 
of  Music. 

One  night  after  ten  o'clock  my  lamp  went 
down  very  low  and  I  wanted  to  fill  it  again.  I 
had  a  five  gallon  can  of  kerosene  and  a  five 
gallon  can  of  gasolene  standing  together  under 
the  stall,  and  in  the  darkness  I  got  out  the  can 
[73] 


UNDISTINGUISHED    AMERICANS 

of  gasolene.  I  filled  the  lamp  while  it  was  still 
burning.  It  exploded  over- me  and  I  ran  out 
of  the  place  all  in  flames.  The  people  were 
just  coming  out  of  the  Academy  of  Music 
when  I  rushed  among  them  shouting.  Men 
threw  their  overcoats  about  me  and  put  out 
the  flames,  but  I  nearly  lost  my  life.  I  was 
taken  to  a  hospital,  where  I  lay  for  four 
months.  All  my  hair  was  burned  off,  my  eye 
brows  and  the  skin  of  my  neck  and  head,  and 
I  was  in  great  pain. 

Finally  I  was  able  to  get  out,  and  my  land 
lord  took  charge  of  me  and  started  me  in  busi 
ness  again. 

He  was  a  German;  I  think  his  name  was 
Hackenbush.  At  any  rate  he  was  very  kind, 
I  had  not  had  sense  enough  to  get  my  store 
insured,  and  so  had  no  money  when  I  walked 
out  of  the  hospital.  My  landlord  stocked  it 
for  me  with  fruits,  cigars  and  candies,  and  did 
all  he  could  to  put  me  on  my  feet,  but  I  had 
bad  luck  and  gave  up. 

Then  I  left  Chicago  and  went  roaming,  rid 
ing  about  on  freight  cars  looking  for  work. 
I  had  twenty  dollars  in  my  pocket  when  I  set 
out,  but  it  was  soon  gone.  I  could  get  no 
work.  I  fell  in  with  a  gang  of  tramps,  mostly 
Irish  fellows;  we  rode  generally  in  the  ca 
booses  of  freight  cars.  They  used  to  beg, 
but  I  said  "  No,  I'll  starve  first." 

I  slept  at  nights  in  cemeteries  for  fear  of 
being  arrested  as  a  hobo  if  I  slept  in  the  parks, 
[74] 


STORY    OF    A    GREEK    PEDDLER 

and  for  seven  days  I  lived  on  eleven  cents. 
On  the  eighth  day  I  got  a  job  carrying  lumber 
on  my  shoulder.  I  worked  two  days  at  this 
and  earned  three  dollars,  but  was  so  weak  that 
I  had  to  give  it  up. 

So  I  went  on,  riding  on  top  of  a  freight 
car.  There  were  three  of  us  on  top  of  that  car, 
two  lying  down  and  one  sitting  up  reading  a 
paper.  We  came  to  a  tunnel,  and  when  we 
had  passed  through  the  man  who  was  reading 
the  paper  was  gone.  -When  the  train  made  its 
next  stop  I  and  my  companion  went  back  and 
found  the  missing  man  lying  dead  on  the  track. 
That  ended  my  riding  on  top  of  freight  cars. 
I  never  tried  it  again. 

I  got  a  job  in  a  bicycle  factory  soon  after 
this.  It  paid  me  nine  dollars  a  week  and  I 
could  save  seven,  so  I  soon  had  money  again ; 
but  when  the  war  with  Turkey  broke  out  I 
thought  I  would  go  back  and  fight  for  Greece 
and  I  did,  but  the  war  was  a  disappointment. 
I  was  in  several  battles,  such  as  they  were,  but 
no  sooner  were  we  soldiers  ready  to  fight  than 
we  would  all  be  ordered  to  go  back. 

When  the  war  was  over  I  returned  to  this 
good  country  and  became  a  citizen.  I  got  down 
to  business,  worked  hard  and  am  worth  about 
$50,000  to-day.  I  have  fruit  stores  and  con 
fectionery  stores. 

There  are  about  10,000  Greeks  in  New 
York  now,  living  in  and  about  Roosevelt,  Mad 
ison  and  Washington  streets;  about  200  of 
[75] 


UNDISTINGUISHED    AMERICANS 

them  are  women.  They  all  think  this  is  a  fine 
country.  Most  of  them  are  citizens.  Only 
about  ten  per  cent,  go  home  again,  and  of 
these  many  return  to  America,  finding  that 
they  like  their  new  home  better  than  their  old 
one. 

The  Greeks  here  are  almost  all  doing  well, 
there  are  no  beggars  and  no  drunkards  among 
them,  and  the  worst  vice  they  have  is  gam 
bling. 

From  Christmas  till  January  5  of  each  year 
there  is  great  gambling  in  the  Greek  quarter, 
especially  in  the  back  rooms  of  the  four  res 
taurants.  The  police  know  all  about  it  and  it 
is  allowed.  Each  of  these  restaurants  takes  in 
from  $50  to  $200  a  night  from  gambling  dur 
ing  the  Christmas  celebration.  I  suppose  the 
police .  get  their  share.  Poker  is  a  favorite 
game,  and  other  card  games  are  played,  thou 
sands  of  dollars  changing  hands  among  the 
players. 

That  is  our  big  spree,  taking  place  once  a 
year.  Aside  from  that,  we  are  very  quiet  and 
law  abiding. 

The  Greek  push  cart  men  are  the  Greek 
newcomers.  They  all  save  and  they  all  get 
up.  When  they  have  a  little  money  they  open 
stores  of  their  own,  confectionery,  flowers  and 
fruit. 

We  think  that  the  push  cart  business  is  good 
for  the  citjfT^The  fruit  is  fresh  every  day, 
and  people  get  what  they  want  as  they  pass 
[76] 


STORY  OF  A  GREEK  PEDDLER 

along  the  street.  When  the  push  cart  men 
finish  selling  dear  to  the  people  with  plenty  of 
money  they  go  and  sell  cheap  to  the  poor  in 
the  evenings.  Plenty  of  fruit  is  a  fine  thing 
for  health. 

The  fruit  here,  though,  is  not  as  good  to 
eat  as  it  is  in  Greece.  The  reason  is  that  here 
it  is  picked  before  it  is  ripe  and  lies  in  an  ice 
house  for  weeks.  That  takes  all  the  flavor, 
and  so,  though  the  fruit  looks  so  fine,  it  has 
no  good  taste.  The  icebox  is  a  bad  thing. 
There  is  no  ice  to  the  fruit  in  Greece. 

We  Greeks  are  doing  well  here,  we  are  tak 
ing  citizenship  and  we  like  this  country;  but 
the  condition  of  the  country  we  have  left  dis 
turbs  us,  and  we  would  give  all  we  possess, 
every  cent,  all  our  money  and  goods,  to  see 
Greece  free. 

Greece,  the  country  as  it  is  to-day,  has  only 
2,500,000  inhabitants,  but  there  are  18,000,000 
Greeks  living  in  Turkey  under  virtual  slavery. 
In  the  city  of  Constantinople  three  out  of  four 
inhabitants  are  Greeks.  We  want  to  see  them 
all  free. 

They  are  ready  for  freedom,  they  are  edu 
cated.  There  are  ten  Greek  schools,  for  every 
Turkish  school  in  Turkey,  and  the  people  are 
intelligent.  The  American  schools  there  have 
done  great  things,  so  it  would  be  easy  to  set  up 
free  Greece  again  in  all  the  country  formerly 
ruled  over  from  Constantinople  before  the 
coming  of  the  Turks. 

[77] 


UNDISTINGUISHED    AMERICANS 

That  would  have  been  done  long  ago  were  it 
not  for  the  jealousy  of  European  powers. 
Even  as  it  is  it  must  soon  come — the  Turk  in 
Europe  is  dying  fast. 

In  addition  to  the  schools  set  up  and  main 
tained  by  the  Greek  Government  and  the 
Americans,  there  is  another  source  of  light  in 
Greece.  That  is  the  returned  emigrants. 
Everywhere  in  Greece  now  one  meets  men 
who  have  been  in  America  and  understand 
how  happy  a  country  may  be.  They  have 
carried  back  American  ways  and  ideas,  and  are 
Americanizing  the  whole  country.  In  all  the 
little  towns  and  villages  now  English  is 
spoken. 

Greeks  are  perhaps  better  fitted  than  any 
others  in  South  Europe  to  enjoy  freedom. 
They  take  politics  seriously,  and  believe  in  vot 
ing  for  the  best  man. 

Free  Greece  must  come  soon,  but  in  precisely 
what  shape  no  one  knows.  There  are  so  many 
things  to  be  considered.  Constantinople 
ought  to  be  the  capital,  but  Russia  wants  Con 
stantinople.  Russia  is  jealous  of  Greece,  as 
matters  are  now,  because  the  patriarch  head  of 
her  church  is  Greek  and  resides  in  Constanti 
nople.  She  would  resist  an  extension  of  our 
power. 

Germany  and  Austria,  also,  look  upon 
those  parts  of  old  Greece  which  are  under 
Turkish  sway  with  covetous  eyes.  When 
[78] 


STORY    OF    A    GREEK    PEDDLER 

Turkey  dies  they  will  present  themselves  as 
the  natural  heirs. 

And  yet,  in  spite  of  all,  we  Greeks  feel  that 
our  country  will  rise  again,  happy  and  pros 
perous,  free  and  glorious,  standing  once  more 
as  leader  of  the  nations. 

How  this  will  come  we  know  not;  but  it 
will  be  so,  and  that  within  a  generation. 


[79] 


CHAPTER   V 

THE     LIFE     STORY     OF     A     SWEDISH 
FARMER 

Axel  Jarlson,  the  author  of  the  following  biography,  is  twenty- 
two  years  of  age  and  a  fine  specimen  of  the  large,  strong,  ener 
getic,  blonde  Norseman.  He  speaks  good  English  and  his  story, 
written  from  an  interview  given  on  his  way  through  New  York 
to  spend  the  Christmas  holidays  with  his  parents  in  the  old  coun 
try,  is  practically  given  in  his  own  words.  His  family's  experi 
ence  resembles  that  of  great  numbers  of  his  countrymen,  who 
come  here  intending  to  return  finally  to  the  old  country,  but 
find  themselves  unconsciously  Americanized. 

I  CAN  remember  perfectly  well  the  day 
when  my  elder  brother,  Gustaf,  started 
for  America.  It  was  in  April,  1891,  and  there 
was  snow  on  the  ground  about  our  cottage, 
while  the  forest  that  covered  the  hills  near  by 
was  still  deep  with  snow.  The  roads  were 
very  bad,  but  my  uncle  Olaf ,  who  had  been  to 
America  often  on  the  ships,  said  that  this  was 
the  time  to  start,  because  work  on  the  farms 
there  would  just  be  beginning. 

We  were  ten  in  the  family,  father  and 
mother  and  eight  children,  and  we  had  lived 
very  happily  in  our  cottage  until  the  last  year, 
when  father  and  mother  were  both  sick  and 
we  got  into  debt.  Father  had  a  little  piece  of 
land — about  two  acres — which  he  rented,  and 
besides,  he  worked  in  the  summer  time  for  a 
[80] 


STORY    OF    A    SWEDISH   FARMER 

farmer.  Two  of  my  sisters  and  three  of  my 
brothers  also  worked  in  the  fields,  but  the  pay 
was  so  very  small  that  it  was  hard  for  us  to  get 
enough  to  eat.  A  good  farm  hand  in  our 
part  of  Sweden,  which  is  200  miles  north  of 
Stockholm  and  near  the  Baltic  Sea,  can  earn 
about  100  kroner  a  season,  and  a  krone^  is  27 
cents.  But  the  winter  is  six  months  long,  and 
most  of  that  time  the  days  are  dark,  except 
from  ten  o'clock  in  the  morning  to  four  o'clock 
in  the  afternoon.  The  only  way  our  family 
could  get  money  during  the  winter  was  by 
making  something  that  could  be  sold  in  the 
market  town,  ten  miles  away.  So  my  father 
and  brothers  did  wood  carving  and  cabinet 
making,  and  my  mother  and  sisters  knitted 
stockings,  caps  and  mufflers  and  made  home 
spun  cloth,  and  also  butter  and  cheese,  for  we 
owned  two  cows. 

But  the  Swedish  people  who  have  money 
hold  on  to  it  very  tight,  and  often  we  took 
things  to  market  and  then  had  to  bring  them 
home  again,  for  no  one  would  buy. 

My  uncle  Olaf  used  to  come  to  us  between 
voyages,  and  he  was  all  the  time  talking  about 
America;  what  a  fine  place  it  was  to  make 
money  in.  He  said  that  he  would  long  ago 
have  settled  down  on  shore  there,  but  that  he 
had  a  mate's  place  on  a  ship  and  hoped  some 
day  to  be  captain.  In  America  they  gave  you 
good  land  for  nothing,  and  in  two  years  you 
could  be  a  rich  man;  and  no  one  had  to  go  in 
[81] 


UNDISTINGUISHED    AMERICANS 

the  army  unless  he  wanted  to.  That  was  what 
my  uncle  told  us. 

There  was  a  school  house  to  which  I  and 
two  of  my  sisters  went  all  the  winter — for  edu 
cation  is  compulsory  in  Sweden — and  the 
schoolmaster  told  us  one  day  about  the  great 
things  that  poor  Swedes  had  done  in  America. 
They  grew  rich  and  powerful  like  noblemen 
and  they  even  held  Government  offices.  It 
was  true,  also,  that  no  one  had  to  go  in  the 
army  unless  he  wanted  to  be  a  soldier.  With 
us  all  the  young  men  who  are  strong  have  to 
go  in  the  army,  because  Sweden  expects  to 
have  to  fight  Russia  some  day.  The  army 
takes  the  young  men  away  from  their  work 
and  makes  hard  times  in  the  family. 

A  man  who  had  been  living  in  America  once 
came  to  visit  the  little  village  that  was  near 
our  cottage.  He  wore  gold  rings  set  with 
jewels  and  had  a  fine  watch.  He  said  that 
food  was  cheap  in  America  and  that  a  man 
could  earn  nearly  ten  times  as  much  there  as 
in  Sweden.  He  treated  all  the  men  to  brand- 
vin,  or  brandy  wine,  as  some  call  it,  and  there 
seemed  to  be  no  end  to  his  money. 

It  was  after  this  that  father  and  mother 
were  both  sick  during  all  of  one  winter,  and  we 
had  nothing  to  eat,  except  black  bread  and  a 
sort  of  potato  soup  or  gruel,  with  now  and 
then  a  herring.  We  had  to  sell  our  cows  and 
we  missed  the  milk  and  cheese. 

So  at  last  it  was  decided  that  my  brother 


STORY    OF    A    SWEDISH    FARMER 

was  to  go  to  America,  and  we  spent  the  last 
day  bidding  him  good-bye,  as  if  we  should 
never  see  him  again.  My  mother  and  sisters 
cried  a  great  deal,  and  begged  him  to  write; 
my  father  told  him  not  to  forget  us  in  that  far 
off  country,  but  to  do  right  and  all  would  be 
well,  and  my  uncle  said  that  he  would  become 
a  leader  of  the  people. 

Next  morning  before  daylight  my  brother 
and  my  uncle  went  away.  They  had  twenty 
miles  to  walk  to  reach  the  railroad,  which 
would  take  them  to  Gothenburg.  My  uncle 
had  paid  the  money  for  the  ticket  which  was 
to  carry  Gustaf  to  Minnesota.  It  cost  a  great 
deal — about  $90,  I  believe. 

In  the  following  August  we  got  our  first 
letter  from  America.  I  can  remember  some 
parts  of  it,  in  which  my  brother  said : 

I  have  work  with  a  farmer  who  pays  me  64  kroner  a 
month,  and  my  board.  I  send  you  20  kroner,  and 
will  try  to  send  that  every  month.  This  is  a  good 
country.  It  is  like  Sweden  in  some  ways.  The  win 
ter  is  long,  and  there  are  some  cold  days,  but  every 
thing  grows  that  we  can  grow  in  our  country,  and 
there  is  plenty.  All  about  me  are  Swedes,  who  have 
taken  farms  and  are  getting  rich.  They  eat  white 
bread  and  plenty  of  meat.  The  people  here  do  not 
work  such  long  hours  as  in  Sweden,  but  they  work 
much  harder,  and  they  have  a  great  deal  of  machin 
ery,  so  that  the  crop  one  farmer  gathers  will  fill  two 
big  barns.  One  farmer,  a  Swede,  made  more  than 
25,000  kroner  on  his  crop  last  year. 
[83] 


UNDISTINGUISHED    AMERICANS 

After  that  we  got  a  letter  every  month 
from  my  brother.  He  kept  doing  better  and 
better,  and  at  last  he  wrote  that  a  farm  had 
been  given  to  him  by  the  Government.  It 
was  sixty  acres  of  land,  good  soil,  with  plenty 
of  timber  on  it  and  a  river  running  alongside. 
He  had  two  fine  horses  and  a  wagon  and 
sleigh,  and  he  was  busy  clearing  the  land.  He 
wanted  his  brother,  Eric,  to  go  to  him,  but  we 
could  not  spare  Eric,  and  so  Knut,  the  third 
brother,  was  sent.  He  helped  Gustaf  for  two 
years,  and  then  he  took  a  sixty-acre  farm. 
Both  sent  money  home  to  us,  and  soon  they 
sent  tickets  for  Hilda  and  Christine,  two  of 
my  sisters. 

People  said  that  Hilda  was  very  beautiful. 
She  was  eighteen  years  of  age,  and  had  long 
shining  golden  hair,  red  cheeks  and  blue  eyes. 
She  was  merry  and  a  fine  dancer ;  far  the  best 
among  the  girls  in  all  the  country  round,  and 
she  could  spin  and  knit  grandly. 

She  and  Christine  got  work  in  families  of 
Minneapolis,  and  soon  were  earning  almost 
as  much  as  my  brothers  had  earned  at  first, 
and  sending  money  to  us.  Hilda  married  a 
man  who  belonged  to  the  Government  of  Min 
neapolis  before  she  had  lived  there  six  months. 
He  is  a  Swede,  but  has  been  away  from  home 
a  long  time.  Hilda  now  went  to  live  in  a  fine 
house,  and  she  said  in  her  letter  that  the  only 
trouble  she  had  was  with  shoes.  In  the  coun 
try  parts  of  Sweden  they  wear  no  shoes  in  the 
[84] 


STORY    OF    A    SWEDISH    FARMER 

summer  time,  but  in  Minneapolis  they  wear 
them  all  the  year  round. 

Father  and  mother  kept  writing  to  the 
children  in  America  that  now  they  had  made 
their  fortunes  they  should  come  home  and  live, 
but  they  put  it  off.  Once  Gustaf  did  return  to 
see  us,  but  he  hurried  back  again,  because  the 
people  thought  so  much  of  him  that  they  had 
made  him  sheriff  of  a  county.  So  it  would  not 
do  to  be  long  away. 

I  and  my  sister  Helene  came  to  this  country 
together  in  1899,  Hilda  having  sent  us  the 
money,  600  kroner.  We  came  over  in  the 
steerage  from  Gothenburg,  on  the  west  coast. 
The  voyage  wasn't  so  bad.  They  give  people 
beds  in  the  steerage  now,  and  all  their  food, 
and  it  is  very  good  food  and  well  cooked.  It 
took  us  twelve  days  to  cross  the  sea,  but  we  did 
not  feel  it  long,  as  when  people  got  over  the 
sea  sickness  there  was  plenty  of  dancing,  for 
most  of  those  people  in  the  steerage  were 
Swedes  and  very  pleasant  and  friendly.  On 
fine  days  we  could  walk  outside  on  the  deck. 
Two  men  had  concertinas  and  one  had  a  violin. 

When  we  got  to  Minneapolis  we  found 
Hilda  living  in  a  large  brick  house,  and  she 
had  two  servants  and  a  carriage.  She  cried 
with  joy  when  she  saw  us,  and  bought  us  new 
clothes,  because  we  were  in  homespun  and  no 
one  wears  that  in  Minneapolis.  But  she  laid 
the  homespun  away  in  a  chest  and  said  that 
she  would  always  keep  it  to  remind  her. 
[85] 


UNDISTINGUISHED    AMERICANS 

I  stayed  with  Hilda  two  weeks,  and  then 
went  out  to  my  brother  Knut's  farm,  which  is 
fifty  miles  northwest  of  Minneapolis.  It  was 
in  August  when  I  reached  him,  and  I  helped 
with  the  harvest  and  the  threshing.  He  had 
built  a  log  house,  with  six  windows  in  it.  It 
looked  very  much  like  the  log  house  where  my 
parents  live  in  Sweden,  only  it  was  not  painted 
red  like  theirs. 

I  worked  for  my  brother  from  August  1899, 
to  March,  1901,  at  $16  a  month,  making  $304, 
of  which  I  spent  only  $12  in  that  time,  as  I 
had  clothes. 

On  the  first  day  of  March  I  went  to  a  farm 
that  I  had  bought  for  $150,  paying  $50  down. 
It  was  a  bush  farm,  ten  miles  from  my 
brother's  place  and  seven  miles  from  the  near 
est  cross  roads  store.  A  man  had  owned  it 
and  cleared  two  acres,  and  then  fallen  sick  and 
the  storekeeper  got  it  for  a  debt  and  sold  it  to 
me.  My  brother  heard  of  it  and  advised-  me 
to  buy  it. 

I  went  on  this  land  in  company  with  a 
French  Canadian  named  Joachim.  He  was 
part  Indian,  and  yet  was  laughing  all  the  time, 
very  gay,  very  full  of  fun,  and  yet  the  best 
axman  I  ever  saw.  He  wore  the  red  trimmed 
white  blanket  overcoat  of  the  Hudson  Bay 
Company,  with  white  blanket  trousers  and 
fancy  moccasins,  and  a  red  sash  around  his 
waist  and  a  capote  that  went  over  his  head. 

We  took  two  toboggans  loaded  with  our 
[86] 


STORY    OF    A    SWEDISH    FARMER 

goods  and  provisions,  and  made  the  ten-mile 
journey  from  my  brother's  house  in  three 
hours.  The  snow  was  eighteen  inches  deep  on 
the  level,  but  there  was  a  good  hard  crust  that 
bore  us  perfectly  most  of  the  way.  The  cold 
was  about  10  below  zero,  but  we  were  steaming 
when  we  got  to  the  end  of  our  journey.  I 
wore  two  pairs  of  thick  woolen  stockings,  with 
shoe-packs  outside  them — the  shoe-pack  is  a 
moccasin  made  of  red  sole  leather,  its  top  is  of 
strong  blanket;  it  is  very  warm  and  keeps  out 
wet.  I  wore  heavy  underclothes,  two  woolen 
shirts,  two  vests,  a  pilot  jacket  and  an  over 
coat,  a  woolen  cap  and  a  fur  cap.  Each  of  us 
had  about  300  pounds  weight  on  his  toboggan. 

Before  this  I  had  looked  over  my  farm  and 
decided  where  to  build  my  house,  so  now  I 
went  straight  to  that  place.  It  was  the  side  of 
a  hill  that  sloped  southward  to  a  creek  that 
emptied  into  a  river  a  mile  away. 

We  went  into  a  pine  grove  about  half  way 
up  the  hill  and  picked  out  a  fallen  tree,  with  a 
trunk  nearly  five  feet  thick,  to  make  one  side 
of  our  first  house.  This  tree  lay  from  east  to 
west.  So  we  made  a  platform  near  the  root 
on  the  south  side  by  stamping  the  snow  down 
hard.  On  top  of  this  platform  we  laid  spruce 
boughs  a  foot  deep  and  covered  the  spruce 
boughs  over  with  a  rubber  blanket.  We  cut 
poles,  about  twenty  of  them,  and  laid  them 
sloping  from  the  snow  up  to  the  top  of  the  tree 
trunk.  Over  these  we  spread  canvas,  and  over 
[87] 


UNDISTINGUISHED    AMERICANS 

that  again  large  pieces  of  oilcloth.  Then  we 
banked  up  the  snow  on  back  and  side,  built  a 
fire  in  front  in  the  angle  made  by  the  tree  root, 
and,  as  we  each  had  two  pairs  of  blankets, 
we  were  ready  for  anything  from  a  flood  to  a 
hurricane.  We  made  the  fire  place  of  flat 
stones  that  we  got  near  the  top  of  the  hill  and 
kindled  the  fire  with  loose  birch  bark.  We  had 
a  box  of  matches,  and  good  fuel  was  all  about 
us.  Soon  we  had  a  roaring,  fire  going  and  a 
big  heap  of  fuel  standing  by.  We  slung  our 
pot  by  means  of  a  chain  to  a  pole  that  rested 
one  end  on  the  fallen  tree  trunk  and  the  other 
on  the  crotch  of  a  small  tree  six  feet  away ;  we 
put  the  pan  on  top  of  the  fire  and  used  the  cof 
fee  or  tea  pot  the  same  way — we  made  tea 
and  coffee  in  the  same  pot.  We  had  brought 
to  camp : 

FIRST    OUTFIT 

Cornmeal,  25  pounds $0.47 

Flour,  100  pounds 2.00 

Lard,  10  pounds 1.00 

Butter,  10  pounds 1.80 

Codfish,  25  pounds 2.25 

Ham,  12  pounds 1.20 

Potatoes,  120  pounds 1.40 

Rice,  25  pounds 2.15 

Coffee,  10  pounds 2.75 

Bacon,  30  pounds 1.50 

Herrings,  200 1.75 

Molasses,  2  gallons 60 

Axes,   3 3.55 

Toboggans,  2 3.25 

F88] 


STORY    OF    A    SWEDISH    FARMER 

Pair  blankets $5.00 

Pot,  coffee  pot,  frying  pan 1.60 

Knives,  2 75 

Salt,  pepper,  mustard 15 

Tea,  9  pounds 2.70 

Matches    10 

Pickax    1.25 

Spades,  2 3.00 

Hoes,  2 2.00 

Sugar,  30  pounds 1.80 

Snow  shoes,  1  pair 1.75 

Gun    9.00 

Powder  and  shot 65 

Total    $55.42 

"  Jake,"  as  we  all  called  the  Frenchman,  was 
a  fine  cook.  He  made  damper  in  the  pan, 
and  we  ate  it  swimming  with  butter  along  with 
slices  of  bacon  and  some  roast  potatoes  and 
tea.  "  Jake,"  like  all  the  lumbermen,  made 
tea  very  strong.  So  did  I,  but  I  didn't  like 
the  same  kind  of  tea.  The  backwoodsmen 
have  got  used  to  a  sort  of  tea  that  bites  like 
acid;  it  is  very  bad,  but  they  won't  take  any 
other.  I  liked  a  different  sort.  So  as  we 
couldn't  have  both,  we  mixed  the  two  together. 

The  sun  went  down  soon  after  four  o'clock, 
but  the  moon  rose,  the  stars  were  very  big  and 
bright  and  the  air  quite  still  and  so  dry  that  no 
one  could  tell  it  was  cold.  "Jake"  had 
brought  a  fiddle  with  him  and  he  sat  in  the 
doorway  of  our  house  and  played  and  sang 
[89] 


UNDISTINGUISHED    AMERICANS 

silly  French  Canadian  songs,  and  told  stories 
in  his  own  language.  I  could  not  understand 
a  word  he  said,  but  he  didn't  care ;  he  was  talk 
ing  to  the  fire  and  the  woods  as  much  as  to  me. 
He  got  up  and  acted  some  of  the  stories  and 
made  me  laugh,  though  I  didn't  understand. 
We  went  to  bed  soon  after  eight  o'clock^  and 
slept  finely.  I  never  had  a  better  bed  than 
those  spruce  boughs. 

Next  morning,  after  a  breakfast  of  corn- 
meal  mush,  herrings,  coffee  and  bacon,  we 
took  our  axes  and  went  to  work,  and  by  work 
ing  steadily  for  six  hours  we  chopped  an  acre 
of  ground  and  cut  four  cords  of  wood,  which 
we  stacked  up  ready  for  hauling.  It  was 
birch,  beech,  oak,  maple,  hickory,  ironwood  and 
elm,  for  we  left  the  pine  alone  and  set  out  to 
clear  the  land  on  the  side  of  the  creek  first. 
The  small  stuff  that  was  not  good  for  cord 
wood  we  piled  up  for  our  own  fire  or  for  fence 
rails. 

We  found, the  fire  out  when  we  returned  to 
our  camp,  but  it  was  easy  to  light  it  again,  and 
we  had  damper  and  butter,  boiled  rice  and 
molasses,  tea  with  sugar  and  slices  of  ham  for 
supper.  A  workingman  living  out  of  doors 
in  that  air  can  eat  as  much  as  three  men  who 
live  in  the  city.  A  light  snow  fell,  but  it  made 
no  difference,  as  our  fire  was  protected  by  the 
tree  root,  and  we  could  draw  a  strip  of  can 
vas  down  over  the  doorway  of  our  house. 

So  we  lived  till  near  the  first  of  April  when 
[90] 


STORY    OF    A    SWEDISH    FARMER 

the  sun  began  to  grow  warm  and  the  ice  and 
snow  to  melt.  In  that  time  we  chopped  about 
nine  acres  and  made  forty-five  cords  of  wood, 
which  we  dragged  to  the  bank  of  the  river  and 
left  there  for  the  boats  to  take,  the  storekeeper 
giving  me  credit  for  it  on  his  books  at  $1.25  a 
cord.  We  also  cut  two  roads  through  the 
bush.  In  order  to  haul  the  wood  and  break  the 
roads  I  had  to  buy  an  ox  team  and  bob 
sleigh  which  I  got  with  harness,  a  ton  of  hay 
and  four  bushels  of  turnips  for  $63.  I  made 
the  oxen  a  shelter  of  poles  and  boughs  and 
birch  bark  sloping  up  to  the  top  of  an  old  tree 
root. 

By  April  15th  the  ground  which  we  had 
chopped  over  was  ready  for  planting,  for  all 
the  snow  and  ice  was  gone  and  the  sun  was 
warm.  I  bought  a  lot  of  seed  of  several 
kinds,  and  went  to  wTork  with  spade  and  hoe, 
among  the  stumps  of  the  clearing,  putting  in 
potatoes,  corn,  wheat,  turnips,  carrots,  and  a 
few  onions,  melons  and  pumpkins.  We  used 
spade  and  hoe  in  planting. 

The  soil  was  black  loam  on  top  of  fine  red 
sand,  and  the  corn  seemed  to  spring  up  the 
day  after  it  was  planted. 

We  planted  nearly  twelve  acres  of  the  land 
in  a  scattering  way,  and  then  set  to  work  to 
build  a  log  house  of  pine  logs.  "  Jake  "  was 
a  master  hand  at  this,  and  in  two  weeks  we  had 
the  house  up.  It  was  made  of  logs  about  12 
by  8  inches  on  the  sides.  It  was  18  feet  long 
[91] 


UNDISTINGUISHED    AMERICANS 

and  12  feet  deep,  and  had  three  small  windows 
in  the  sides  and  back  and  a  door.  The  ends 
of  the  logs  were  chopped  so  that  those  of  the 
sides  fitted  into  those  of  the  front  and  back. 
The  only  nails  were  in  the  door.  I  had  to  buy 
the  windows.  The  only  furniture  was  two 
trunks,  a  table,  a  stool  and  a  bench,  all  made 
with  the  axe.  The  roof  was  of  birch  bark. 

About  the  first  of  June  my  sister  Helene 
came  with  a  preserving  kettle,  a  lot  of  glass 
jars  and  a  big  scheme.  We  got  a  cook  stove 
and  a  barrel  of  sugar,  and  put  a  sign  on  the 
river  bank  announcing  that  we  would  pay  fifty 
cents  cash  for  12  quarts  of  strawberries,  rasp 
berries  or  blackberries.  All  through  June, 
July  and  August  Indians  kept  bringing  us  the 
berries,  and  my  sister  kept  preserving,  can 
ning  arid  labeling  them.  Meanwhile  we  dug 
a  roothouse  into  the  side  of  the  hill  and  sided 
it  up  and  roofed  it  over  with  logs,  and  we  built 
a  log  stable  for  cattle.  A  load  of  lumber  that 
we  got  for  $2  had  some  planed  boards  in  it, 
of  which  we  made  doors.  The  rest  we  used  for 
roofs,  which  we  finally  shingled  before  win 
ter  came  on  again.  The  result  of  my  first  sea 
son's  work  was  as  follows : 

EXPENSES 

(From  March  1st  to  December  31st,  1901) 

Farm,  paid  on  account $50.00 

Axes,  4,  with  handles 5.00 

Spades,  2 3.00 

[93] 


STORY    OF    A    SWEDISH    FARMER 

Hoes,  2 $2.00 

Oil  lantern 1.25 

Lamp  with  bracket 1.50 

Oil,  4  gallons 40 

Cow  with  calf 25.00 

Yoke  of  oxen,  with  harness,  sleigh, 

etc 63.00 

Seed    12.50 

"Jake's"  wages,  6  months 120.00 

Helen e's  wages,  7  months 112.00 

Windows  for  house 6.50 

Lumber 2.00 

Kitchen  utensils,  dishes 5.40 

Toboggans,  2 2.75 

Blankets,  2  pairs 10.00 

Pickaxe 1.25 

Mutton,  35  pounds 2.10 

Beef,  86  pounds 6.02 

Corned  beef,  70  pounds 3.50 

Bacon,  82  pounds 4.10 

Flour,  3  barrels 10.50 

Cornmeal,  80  pounds 2.40 

Codfish,  40  pounds 3.60 

Sugar,  400  pounds 20.00 

Oatmeal,  75  pounds 2.25 

Molasses,  9  gallons 2.70 

Tobacco,  10  pounds .90 

Candles 10 

Tea,  18  pounds 5.40 

Coffee,  10  pounds 5.40 

Plough   6.50 

Rice,  25  pounds 2.15 

Preserve  jars,  400 7.50 

Stump  extracting 17.00 

Stove    3.00 

[93] 


UNDISTINGUISHED    AMERICANS 

Preserve  jar  labels,  500 $2.50 

All  other  expenses 21.00 

Total $552.17 

INCOME    AND    CASH    IN    HAND 

(March  1st  to  December  31st,  1901). 

Cash  in  hand $292.00 

Wood,  45  cords  at  $1.25 56.25 

Preserves,  400  quarts 66.50 

Wheat,  67  bushels 46.50 

Corn,  350  bushels 163.30 

Carrots,  185  bushels 90.45 

Turnips,  80  bushels 32.00 

Potatoes,  150  bushels 75.00 


Total    $822.00 

Total  expenses 552.17 

Balance  on  hand $269.83 

That  comparison  of  income  and  expenses 
looks  more  unfavorable  than  it  really  was  be 
cause  we  had  five  months'  provisions  on  hand 
on  December  31st.  We  raised  almost  all  our 
own  provisions  after  the  first  three  months. 
In  1902  my  income  was  above  $1,200,  and  my 
expenses  after  paying  $50  on  the  farm  and 
$62  for  road  making  and  stump  extracting 
and  labor,  less  than  $600. 

I  have  no  trouble  selling  my  produce,  as  the 
storekeeper  takes  it  all  and  sells  it  down  the 
river.  He  also  owns  a  threshing  machine  and 
stump  extractor. 

[94] 


STORY    OF    A    SWEDISH    FARMER 

The  Frenchman  went  away  in  August,  1901. 
I  don't  know  where  he  is.  I  have  had  other 
good  workmen  since  but  none  like  him. 

I  studied  English  coming  out  on  the  vessel, 
but  I  was  here  six  months  before  I  could  speak 
it  well.  I  like  this  country  very  much,  and 
will  become  a  citizen. 

One  thing  I  like  about  this  country  is  that 
you  do  not  have  to  be  always  taking  off  your 
hat  to  people.  In  Sweden  you  take  off  your 
hat  to  everybody  you  meet,  and  if  you  enter  a 
store  you  take  off  your  hat  to  the  clerk. 
Another  thing  that  makes  me  like  this  country 
is  that  I  can  share  in  the  government.  In 
Sweden  my  father  never  had  a  vote,  and  my 
brothers  never  could  have  voted  because  there 
is  a  property  qualification  that  keeps  out  the 
poor  people,  and  they  had  no  chance  to  make 
money.  Here  any  man  of  good  character  can 
have  a  vote  after  he  has  been  a  short  time  in  the 
country,  and  people  can  elect  him  to  any  office. 
There  are  no  aristocrats  to  push  him  down, 
and  say  that  he  is  not  worthy  because  his  father 
was  poor.  Some  Swedes  have  become  Gov 
ernors  of  States,  and  many  who  landed  here 
poor  boys  are  now  very  rich. 

I  am  going  over  to  Sweden  soon  to  keep 
Christmas  there.  Six  hundred  other  Swedes 
will  sail  on  our  ship.  Many  are  from  Minne 
sota.  They  have  done  their  fall  planting,  and 
the  snow  is  on  the  ground  up  there,  and  they 
can  easily  get  away  for  two  months  or  more. 
[95] 


UNDISTINGUISHED    AMERICANS 

So  we  are  all  going  to  our  old  home,  but  will 
come  back  again,  and  may  be  bring  other  peo 
ple  with  us.  Some  Swedes  go  to  the  old  coun 
try  every  Christmas. 

We're  going  in  the  steerage  and  pay  a  low 
special  rate  because  the  ships  need  passengers 
at  this  time  of  the  year.  We'll  have  the  steer 
age  all  to  ourselves,  and  it  ought  to  be  very 
comfortable  and  jolly.  We  will  dance  and 
play  cards  all  the  way  over. 

Christmas  is  Sweden's  great  day;  in  fact, 
it  is  wrong  to  speak  of  it  as  a  day  because  it 
keeps  up  for  two  weeks.  The  people  have 
been  preparing  for  it  since  November  last. 
Near  our  place  there  are  twelve  farm  houses 
and  about  ten  people  living  in  each  house.  In 
the  last  letter  that  I  got  from  my  mother  two 
weeks  ago  she  told  me  about  the  preparations 
for  Christmas.  I  know  who  the  maskers  are, 
wrho  will  go  around  on  Christmas  Eve  knock 
ing  at  the  doors  of  the  houses  and  giving  the 
presents.  That's  supposed  to  be  a  secret,  but 
mother  has  found  out. 

I  expect  to  return  to  America  in  February, 
and  will  try  to  bring  my  elder  brother,  Eric, 
and  my  youngest  sister,  Minna,  with  me.  Eric 
has  never  seen  a  city,  neither  has  Minna,  and 
they  don't  think  that  they  would  like  America 
much  because  the  ways  of  the  people  are  so 
different  and  they  work  so  much  harder  while 
they  are  working. 

My  father  says  that  Sweden  is  the  finest 
[96] 


STORY    OF    A    SWEDISH    FARMER 

country  in  the  world,  and  he  will  never  leave, 
but  he  is  only  sixty  years  of  age,  and  so  he 
could  move  very  well.  Mother  is  younger, 
and  they  are  both  strong,  so  I  think  they  will 
come  to  us  in  Minnesota  next  year,  and  then 
our  whole  family  will  be  in  America,  for  Uncle 
Olaf  is  now  in  New  York  in  a  shipping  office. 

Gustaf  is  married  and  has  three  children, 
and  Knut  is  to  be  married  shortly,  but  either  of 
them  would  be  glad  to  have  the  father  and 
mother.  I  think,  though,  that  they  will  come 
to  my  house. 

I  am  carrying  with  me  two  trunks,  and  one 
of  them  is  full  of  Christmas  presents  from 
Knut  and  Gustaf,  Hilda  and  Christine  to 
father,  mother,  Eric  and  Minna.  When  I  re 
turn  to  America  my  trunk  will  be  filled  with 
presents  from  those  in  the  old  home  to  those 
in  the  new. 

Among  these  presents  are  books  of  pictures 
showing  Minneapolis,  Duluth  and  New  York, 
and  photographs  of  our  houses.  My  father 
and  the  other  old  men  will  not  believe  that 
there  are  any  great  cities  in  America.  They 
say  that  it  is  a  wild  country,  and  that  it  is  quite 
impossible  that  New  York  can  be  as  large  as 
Stockholm.  When  they  hear  about  the  tall 
buildings  they  laugh,  and  say  that  travelers 
always  tell  such  wild  tales.  Maybe  they  will 
believe  the  photographs. 

Some  of  the  pictures  that  I  am  carrying  to 
Sweden  are  of  women  in  America.  They  have 
[97] 


UNDISTINGUISHED    AMERICANS 

a  better  time  than  in  Sweden.  At  least,  they 
do  not  have  to  do  such  heavy  work,  and  they 
dress  much  more  expensively.  Minna  will  be 
greatly  surprised  when  she  sees  how  Hilda 
dresses  now,  and  I  feel  sure  that  she,  too,  will 
want  to  come  here  and  try  her  fortune,  where 
there  are  so  many  rich  husbands  to  be  had. 

The  Swedes  who  live  in  America  like  the  old 
country  girls,  because  they  know  how  to  save 
money. 


[98] 


CHAPTER   VI 

THE    LIFE    STORY    OF    A    FRENCH    DRESSMAKER 

Amelia  des  Moulins  is  a  French  girl  who,  as  her  story  shows, 
is  making  her  fortune  in  America,  but  is  going  back  to  France 
to  live. 

I  WAS  born  in  a  country  district  of  France, 
on  the  edge  of  a  great  forest,  about  150 
miles  southwest  of  Paris.  When  I  first  came 
to  identify  myself,  I  was  a  little  red-cheeked, 
roly-poly,  black-haired,  black-eyed  baby  of 
four  years  or  so,  tumbling  about  under  the 
trees  trying  to  gather  fagots. 

My  father  had  been  one  of  the  men  in 
charge  of  the  forest,  and  when  he  was  killed 
by  the  caving  in  of  an  earthbank  the  great  man 
who  owned  the  estate  on  which  we  lived  al 
lowed  my  mother  to  continue  gathering  fire 
wood  as  before,  which  was  to  us  quite  a  valu 
able  privilege,  as  fuel  is  scarce  and  dear  in 
France. 

Our  cottage  was  of  stone.  It  was  about 
200  years  old  and  had  tiled  roof,  though  most 
of  the  cottages  of  the  neighborhood  were 
thatched.  The  walls  were  nearly  two  feet 
thick  and  all  the  front  and  sides  were  covered 
with  ivy.  There  were  only  two  rooms  on  the 
[99] 


UNDISTINGUISHED    AMERICANS 

ground  floor,  but  overhead  was  a  large  loft, 
with  the  floor  boards  loose  on  the  beams.  My 
brothers  Jean  and  Fra^ois  slept  in  the  loft, 
which  they  reached  by  a  ladder,  and  sometimes 
the  straw  from  their  bed  would  come  sifting 
down  through  the  cracks  above. 

The  large  room  on  the  ground  floor  was 
kitchen,  dining  room,  sitting  room  and  parlor. 
It  had  a  great  hearth,  where  a  big  iron  pot 
hung  on  a  thick  chain,  and  both  chain  and  pot 
were  relics  that  had  long  been  in  my  father's 
family.  The  only  furniture  here  was  a  bench, 
four  wooden  stools  and  an  old  table,  and  the 
only  picture  on  the  plastered  walls  was  a  print 
of  the  Madonna.  The  other  room  was 
mother's  bedroom,  and  I  and  my  sister  Mad 
eline  had  a  cot  in  the  corner. 

In  comparison  with  some  of  our  neighbors 
we  were  looked  upon  as  wealthy,  seeing  that 
mother  owned  the  house  and  field  of  two  acres, 
and  that  she  had  about  $400  saved  up  and  bur 
ied  in  an  old  iron  pot  in  the  earthern  floor  of 
the  little  cellar,  which  was  under  the  middle  of 
the  big  room  and  reached  through  a  trap  door. 

Mother  was  a  large,  stout,  full  blooded 
woman  of  great  strength.  She  could  not  read 
or  write  and  yet  she  was  well  thought  of. 
There  are  all  sorts  of  educations,  and  though 
readirig  and  writing  are  very  well  in  their  way, 
they  would  not  have  done  mother  any  good. 
She  had  the  sort  of  education  that  was  needed 
for  her  work.  Nobody  knew  more  about  rais- 
[100] 


STORY    OF    A    FRENCH 


ing  vegetables,  ducks,  chickens  and  pigeons 
than  she  did.  There  were  some  among  the 
neighbors  who  could  read  and  write  and  so 
thought  themselves  above  mother,  but  when 
they  went  to  market  they  found  their  mistake. 
Her  peas,  beans,  cauliflower,  cabbages,  pump 
kins,  melons,  potatoes,  beets  and  onions  sold 
for  the  highest  price  of  any,  and  that  ought 
to  show  whose  education  was  the  best,  because 
it  is  the  highest  education  that  produces  the 
finest  work. 

Mother  used  to  take  me  frequently  to  the 
market.  We  had  a  big  dog  and  a  little  cart 
(mother  and  the  dog  pulled  the  cart)  —  one  can 
see  hundreds  of  them  in  any  French  market 
town  to-day.  The  cart  was  filled  high  with 
fowls  and  vegetables,  and  when  I  was  very 
small  I  sat  on  the  top  holding  our  lunch, 
which  was  wrapped  in  a  napkin.  It  was  al 
ways  the  same,  a  half  loaf  of  black  bread  to  be 
eaten  with  an  onion.  I  was  inclined  to  be  par 
ticular,  and  sometimes  I  would  not  eat  the 
black  bread,  which  was  hard  and  sour,  but 
mother  would  just  lay  it  aside  and  say  that  I 
would  go  to  it  before  it  would  go  to  me,  and  I 
always  did  go  to  it,  except  one  day  when 
mother  got  impatient  with  me  for  being  sulky 
and  gave  my  bread  to  the  dog,  Hero,  who  ate 
it  like  the  greedy  thing  that  he  was.  I  boxed 
his  ears  for  that,  but  he  only  smiled  at  me.  He 
was  a  big,  black  Newfoundland  fellow,  very 
good-natured. 

[101] 


UNDISTINGUISHED    AMERICANS 

We  used  to  reach  the  market  place  about 
half -past  five  o'clock  in  the  morning,  and  when 
we  got  there  mother  would  back  the  cart  up 
against  the  sidewalk  and  begin  to  shout  about 
the  chickens,  eggs  and  vegetables.  All  the 
women  with  the  carts  were  shouting  and  all 
the  dogs  barking,  and  there  was  great  business. 

The  market  women  were  a  big,  rough,  fat, 
jolly  set,  who  did  not  know  what  sickness  was, 
and  it  might  have  been  well  for  me  if  I  had 
stayed  among  them  and  grown  to  be  like 
mother.  They  had  so  much  hard,  healthy 
work  that  it  gave  them  no  time  to  worry. 

One  time  in  the  market  place  I  saw  a  totally 
different  set  of  women.  It  was  about  eight 
o'clock  in  the  morning,  when  some  people  be 
gan  to  shout : 

"  Here  come  the  rich  Americans!  Now  we 
will  sell  things!  " 

We  saw  a  large  party  of  travelers  coming 
through  the  crowd.  They  looked  very  queer. 
Their  clothes  seemed  queer,  as  they  were  so 
different  from  ours.  They  wore  leather  boots 
instead  of  wooden  shoes,  and  they  all  looked 
weak  and  pale.  The  women  were  tall  and 
thin,  like  bean-poles,  and  their  shoulders  were 
stooped  and  narrow ;  most  of  them  wore  glasses 
or  spectacles,  showing  that  their  eyes  were 
weak.  The  corners  of  their  mouths  were  all 
pulled  down  and  their  faces  were  crossed  and 
crisscrossed  with  lines  and  wrinkles,  as  though 
they  were  carrying  all  the  care  in  the  world. 
[102] 


STORY  OF  A  FRENCH  DRESSMAKER 

Our  women  all  began  to  laugh  and  dance 
and  shout  at  the  strangers.  It  was  not  very 
polite  on  our  part,  but  the  travelers  certainly 
did  look  funny. 

I  was  about  six  years  old  when  that  hap 
pened,  and  the  sight  of  those  people  gave  me 
my  first  idea  of  America.  1  heard  that  the 
women  there  never  worked,  laced  themselves 
too  tightly,  and  were  always  ill. 

I  would  have  grown  up  like  mother  and  her 
friends  but  that  I  did  not  seem  to  be  good  at 
their  work.  1  took  to  reading,  writing,  sew 
ing  and  embroidering,  and  I  did  not  take  to 
gardening  and  selling  things,  while  I  cried 
when  they  killed  pigeons  or  chickens.  So  I 
was  sent  to  Paris  to  live  with  my  Aunt  Celes- 
tina,  a  dressmaker,  employed  by  one  of  the 
great  establishments. 

My  aunt,  though  mother's  sister,  was  not  at 
all  like  her.  She  was  small,  thin  and  pale, 
with  quick,  black  eyes  and  a  snappy  sort  of 
way,  though  she  was  quite  good  hearted. 

It  was  not  very  long  before  I  found  out 
just  how  the  fashions  are  made.  There  are 
three  great  establishments  in  Paris  that  lead 
all  others.  These  have  very  clever  men  work 
ing  for  them  as  designers  of  cloaks,  hats  and 
dresses.  These  designers  not  only  know  all 
the  recent  fashions,  but  also  all  the  fashions 
that  there  were  in  the  world  hundreds  of  years 
ago.  They  have  books  full  of  pictures  to  help 
them,  and  what  they  try  to  do  is  to  make  the 
[103] 


UNDISTINGUISHED    AMERICANS 

women  change  their  dresses  just  as  often  as 
possible.  That's  the  reason  they  keep  chang 
ing  the  fashions. 

Each  time  they  make  a  new  fashion  they 
make  it  just  as  unlike  the  one  that  went  before 
as  can  be,  so  that  things  that  are  six  months  old 
look  ridiculous,  and  the  women  all  over  the 
world  who  are  trying  to  follow  the  fashions 
put  the  old  dresses  away,  even  though  they 
have  only  been  worn  once  or  twice.  One  time 
the  sleeves  are  big  at  the  shoulders  and  narrow 
at  the  wrists  and  at  another  time  narrow  at  the 
shoulders  and  big  at  the  wrists.  One  time  the 
dress  is  tight  at  the  waist  and  another  time 
loose,  and  there  are  all  sorts  of  changes  in  the 
size,  shape  and  hang  of  the  skirt ;  and  in  addi 
tion  all  the  changes  of  fashion  in  colors  and 
materials. 

The  keynote  of  fashion  making  is  change, 
for  the  women  all  over  the  world  are  watching 
Paris,  and  they  say,  "  You  might  as  well  be 
out  of  the  world,  as  out  of  the  fashion." 
The  greater  the  changes  the  more  dresses 
sold. 

When  these  great  milliners  have  decided  on 
the  new  fashions  they  get  some  of  the  best 
known  women  in  the  city  to  lead  off  with  them. 
These  women  are  given  magnificent  costumes 
of  the  newest  design  to  wear,  and,  in  some 
cases,  are  even  paid  for  wearing  them.  Of 
course  these  women  are  great  beauties,  and 
when  they  appear  in  the  parks,  or  at  the  opera, 
[104] 


STORY  OF  A  FRENCH  DRESSMAKER 

all  the  other  women  envy  them,  and  all  those 
who  can,  run  away  and  get  something  of  the 
same  kind. 

My  aunt  and  I  lived  in  a  room  on  the  fifth 
floor  of  an  old  brick  house  in  one  of  the  back 
streets.  They  were  all  poor  people  in  the 
house,  and  I  found  the  children  very  different 
from  those  in  the  country.  They  were  not  re 
ligious.  The  boys  swore  and  smoked — even 
little  ones  of  my  own  age — and  the  girls  knew 
all  sorts  of  bad  things.  There  was  no  place 
to  play  but  in  the  streets,  and,  for  a  time,  I 
was  very  homesick.  The  other  children 
laughed  at  me,  but  they  were  not  altogether 
bad.  They  were  good  natured  in  their  way. 
Most  of  them  had  never  been  in  the  country 
and  they  thought  I  was  telling  stories  when  I 
described  the  forest  where  you  could  walk  for 
miles  and  see  nothing  but  the  trees. 

Some  of  these  children  belonged  to  people 
who  beat  them,  and  a  few  had  hardly  any 
clothes.  My  aunt  used  to  pity  them  so  much, 
and  in  the  evening  she  taught  me  dressmaking 
by  making  things  for  those  children.  She 
taught  me  measuring,  cutting  out,  basting  and 
stitching.  In  the  day  time  I  went  to  school. 
Mother  sent  aunt  some  money  to  help  keep  me, 
and  as  I  had  a  natural  love  for  dressmaking  I 
got  along.  In  the  afternoons  when  school 
was  over  and  before  my  aunt  returned  from 
her  work  I  used  to  go  and  see  all  the  beautiful 
things  in  the  museums  and  art  galleries. 
[105] 


UNDISTINGUISHED    AMERICANS 

I  was  with  my  aunt,  learning  all  she  could 
teach,  till  I  was  fourteen  years  of  age,  which 
was  in  1895.  I  was  quite  a  well  grown  girl 
then,  and  my  aunt  was  going  to  get  me  em 
ployment  in  the  place  where  she  worked,  when 
she  died  of  a  heavy  cold,  pneumonia,  I  suppose. 
After  she  caught  the  cold  she  went  to  work, 
and  grew  worse,  but  she  wouldn't  stop  for 
two  days.  On  the  third  day  she  was  in  a  high 
fever  and  so  dizzy  that  she  could  not  stand 
when  she  rose  from  bed.  I  got  her  some  med 
icine,  but  I  did  not  know  what  to  ask  for  and 
the  druggist  did  not  exactly  know  what  to 
give.  It  did  no  good.  So  at  last  I  called  in  a 
doctor,  but  she  grew  worse  very  fast  and 
seemed  choking.  Some  of  the  neighbors  sat 
up  with  her  in  the  early  part  of  the  night,  but 
at  three  o'clock  in  the  morning  I  was  the  only 
watcher.  My  aunt,  who  had  been  breathing 
very  heavily  and  seemed  unconscious,  suddenly 
sat  up  in  bed,  with  her  eyes  staring.  She  was 
frightened  and  began  to  cry. 

"I'm  dying,"  she  said,  "  and  I'm  not  fit  to 
die;  I  have  been  so  wicked." 

I  spoke  to  her  and  held  her  hands,  but  I 
could  not  comfort  her. 

'  You  are  not  dying,  and  you  have  not  been 
wicked,"  I  said. 

"  Oh!  Oh!  I  have  been  so  wicked!  "  she  cried, 
again  and  again. 

I  declared  that  she  had  not  done  anything 
wrong,  but  she  answered: 
[106] 


STORY  OF  A  FRENCH  DRESSMAKER 

"  Those  clothes  that  I  made  for  the  poor 
children,  I  stole  all  the  goods  from  our  cus 
tomers,  because  I  could  not  bear  to  see  the  lit 
tle  ones  in  such  a  state.  Oh,  it  was  very  bad. 
If  I  wanted  to  give  the  children  something  it 
should  have  been  my  own." 

I  was  so  frightened  that  I  called  up  the 
people  who  lived  in  the  next  room  and  one  of 
them  went  for  the  priest,  and  after  he  had 
talked  with  my  aunt  for  a  few  minutes  she 
seemed  comforted,  but  she  died  the  next 
morning. 

I  went  back  to  my  mother's  house  for  two 
weeks,  but  I  could  not  stay  there,  so  I  returned 
to  Paris,  where  I  went  to  work  in  the  shop  that 
had  employed  my  aunt. 

-Many  of  our  best  customers  were  Ameri 
cans.  They  were  all  very  rich,  and  we  heard 
that  everybody  in  America  was  rich.  They 
drove  up  to  our  shop  in  carriages  and  auto 
mobiles,  and  they  wanted  dresses  like  those  of 
the  queens  and  princesses.  Some  of  them 
spent  whole  weeks  in  our  shop. 

Part  of  the  time  I  had  to  help  try  on  and 
heard  a  great  deal  of  the  conversation  of  these 
ladies.  It  was  all  about  dress  and  money. 
They  said  that  Paris  was  just  like  their  idea 
of  heaven,  though  the  ones  who  said  that  had 
seen  very  little  except  our  shop.  They  were 
mostly  daughters  of  working  people,  common 
laborers,  butchers  and  shopkeepers  who  had 
grown  rich  some  way,  yet  they  were  more 
[107] 


UNDISTINGUISHED    AMERICANS 

haughty  and  proud  than  our  own  aristocrats. 
In  fact,  they  were  pretending  to  be  aristo 
crats.  I  remember  one  of  this  sort  who  de 
clared  that  she  hated  America  because  it  was 
a  republic  and  contained  so  many  common  peo 
ple.  She  was  sorry  that  France  was  a  repub 
lic  and  hoped  it  would  again  soon  have  a  king. 
Our  forewoman  always  agreed  with  all  the 
customers,  and  she  agreed  with  this  one  till  her 
back  was  turned.  Then  she  said : 

"  What  a  fool  that  woman  is!  She  is  coarse 
enough  for  the  fish  market,  yet  she  thinks  she 
can  make  people  believe  she  is  an  aristocrat. 
I  wonder  what  she  is  proud  of  ?  " 

Most  of  the  Americans  I  disliked,  but  there 
were  a  few  of  a  different  sort.  One  very 
beautiful,  tall  girl,  whose  father  owned  10,000 
miles  of  telegraph  wires  and  something  like 
$40,000,000,  was  as  gentle,  simple  and  pleas 
ant  as  if  she  had  been  poor.  She  smiled  at  me 
when  I  was  helping  her  to  try  on  a  new  dress, 
and  said : 

'  What  good  taste  you  have.  If  one  as 
clever  as  you  came  to  America  she  could  do 
very  well." 

I  had  been  for  a  long  time  thinking  that 
same  thing.  If  the  Americans  whom  I  had 
seen  could  have  so  much  money,  why  not  I? 
I  said  that  to  Annette,  my  room  mate,  and 
she  also  wanted  to  go  to  America. 

Of  course,  it  was  all  on  account  of  the 
money,  as  there  is  no  country  like  France  and 
[108] 


STORY  OF  A  FRENCH  DRESSMAKER 

no  city  like  Paris.  We  heard  that  some  dress 
makers  in  America  received  as  much  as  100 
francs  for  a  week's  work.  That  seemed  to  me 
a  great  fortune. 

By  working  at  night  Annette  and  I  saved 
300  francs,  but  it  was  stolen  from  our  room 
and  we  had  to  begin  all  over  again. 

That  was  the  reason  why  we  did  not  reach 
America  till  1899.  We  saved  and  saved,  and 
we  pinched  ourselves  hard,  but  it  takes  a  long 
time  for  two  sewing  girls  in  Paris  to  scrape 
together  500  francs,  and  we  could  not  start 
with  less,  because  we  wanted  to  have  some 
money  in  our  pockets  when  we  landed. 

It  was  in  September  when  we  started.  I 
had  never  seen  the  ocean  before  and  the  voy 
age  was  all  strange.  When  we  approached 
America  a  man  came  to  us  and  asked  how 
much  money  we  had.  We  showed  him  40 
francs. 

'  That  is  not  enough,"  he  said;  "  you  will  be 
sent  back.  No  one  is  allowed  to  land  in  Amer 
ica  unless  he  has  100  francs." 

We  were  dreadfully  frightened,  but  the 
man  said  that  if  we  gave  him  20  francs  he 
would  lend  each  of  us  $50  till  we  passed 
through  the  immigrants'  gate  and  got  into  the 
city  of  New  York.  We  gave  him  20  francs 
and  he  gave  each  of  us  a  $50  bill. 

"  But  will  they  not  think  it  strange  that  I 
and  Annette  have  each  a  $50  bill  in  American 
money?  "  I  asked. 

[109] 


UNDISTINGUISHED    AMERICANS 

"Not  at  all,"  said  he.  "American  money 
is  now  good  all  over  the  world." 

When  we  reached  the  immigrants'  gate, 
however,  the  men  there  told  us  that  the  $50 
bills  were  no  good.  They  were  what  is  called 
Confederate.  The  man  who  had  given  them 
to  us  had  slipped  away.  We  would  have  been 
sent  back  to  France  if  some  other  immi 
grants  had  not  taken  pity  on  us  and  lent  us 
some  money. 

Oh,  how  glad  we  were  to  get  away  from  that 
place  and  into  the  city.  We  landed  in  a  sort 
of  park,  and  a  good  woman,  who  was  one  of 
those  that  helped  us,  treated  us  to  peaches  and 
popcorn.  The  peaches  were  the  largest  and 
ripest  I  ever  ate.  They  fairly  melted  in  our 
mouths. 

A  car  took  us  to  a  place  in  South  Fifth  Ave 
nue  where  there  are  many  French  people.  We 
were  horrified  when  we  found  that  we  must 
pay  $2  a  week  for  a  miserable  room,  but  we 
could  do  no  better.  We  had  only  10  francs 
left,  and  all  the  first  week  after  our  landing  we 
lived  on  potatoes — that  we  roasted  over  the 
gas  flame — and  stale  bread.  The  woman  who 
kept  the  house  walked  about  in  the  passage 
smelling  the  air  and  saying  that  some  one  was 
cooking  in  one  of  the  bedrooms,  but  she  did 
not  find  us  out. 

That  was  a  horrible  place.  Most  of  the  peo 
ple  in  it  seemed  to  be  mad;  they  made  such 
[110] 


STORY  OF  A  FRENCH  DRESSMAKER 

awful  noises  in  the  night — singing,  shouting, 
banging  pianos,  dancing  and  quarreling. 

The  partition  that  separated  our  room  from 
the  one  next  door  to  it  was  thin  and  there  was  a 
hole  in  it,  through  which  a  man  once  peeped. 
He  talked  at  us,  but  we  nailed  a  piece  of  tin 
over  the  hole;  and  as  for  his  talk,  we  never 
answered  it. 

I  don't  think  that  that  house  had  been 
dusted  or  swept  in  six  months;  the  servants 
looked  most  untidy.  Most  of  the  women 
lodgers  slept  till  noon  each  day  and  then 
walked  about  the  passages  wearing  old  wrap 
pers.  Their  hair  was  done  up  in  curl  papers 
and  their  faces  were  covered  with  a  white  paste 
to  improve  their  complexions.  They  looked 
hideous  till  they  washed  themselves  later  in  the 
day.  These  were  all  married  women  who  had 
no  children  and  nothing  to  do  but  gad  about. 

Each  day  after  our  arrival  in  New  York  we 
wandered  about  the  streets  looking  for  work, 
but  we  did  not  know  where  to  look  and  had  no 
luck.  We  could  not  speak  English  and  that 
made  it  very  hard.  We  might  have  starved 
but  that  Annette  made  $2  posing  for  an  artist, 
whom  she  met  quite  by  chance.  He  had  been 
in  Paris  and  he  knew  immediately  that  she 
was  French.  He  saw  by  the  way  she  looked  at 
the  shop  signs  that  she  was  strange  to  the  city 
and  he  spoke  to  her  in  French.  Of  course  she 
answered,  and  they  became  acquainted. 
[Ill] 


UNDISTINGUISHED    AMERICANS 

"  How  did  you  know  I  was  French?  "  she 
asked,  and  he  answered: 

"  A  French  girl!  Ah,  how  could  I  mistake 
you  for  one  of  another  nation?  " 

That  is  the  truth,  too,  though  I  say  it  my 
self.  All  the  world  knows  that  we  French 
have  the  true  artistic  taste,  and  we  show  it  most 
in  our  dress.  The  Germans  or  the  English 
cannot  make  dresses  or  hats,  and  even  when  we 
make  for  them  they  cannot  wear  the  clothes 
properly.  There  is  something  wrong  some 
where,  probably  with  the  color  scheme.  Those 
other  people  do  not  understand,  they  cannot 
comprehend,  it  is  impossible  to  convey  to  them 
the  conception  of  true  harmony.  It  is  like 
trying  to  teach  the  blind  about  light.  They 
lack  the  soul  of  the  artist,  and  so  their  dresses 
are  shocking,  hideous  discords  of  form  and 
color.  When  I  see  them  I  simply  want  to 
scream. 

Berlin  has  lately  been  trying  to  make  fash 
ions  of  her  own.  Pah!  Pooh!  What  pre 
sumption! 

Annette  is  tall  and  fair,  while  I  am  dark 
and  not  more  than  medium  height.  The  artist 
posed  her  as  a  Venetian  flower  girl  with  bare 
feet.  I  saw  the  picture  lately  hanging  in  a 
great  gallery.  It  is  very  beautiful  and  ex 
actly  like  Annette — though  she  always  says 
that  I  am  the  beauty.  Of  course  that  is  not 
true. 

After  we  had  been  for  eight  days  looking 


STORY    OF    A    FRENCH    DRESSMAKER 

for  work  without  finding  any  we  spoke  to  the 
woman  who  kept  the  house  where  we  lived. 
She  knew  a  little  French. 

"  I  think  that  I  can  get  you  situations,"  she 
said,  "  but  they  will  cost  you  $10  for  each." 

I  told  her  that  we  had  no  money. 

"No  matter,"  said  she;  "you  can  pay  me 
after  you  are  paid,  and  I  will  then  pay  the 
forewoman.  But  you  must  not  say  anything 
to  her  about  paying,  because  the  proprietor 
does  not  know  about  it."  The  next  day  we 
went  with  the  woman  to  a  Sixth  Avenue  dress 
maker,  where  we  were  engaged  at  $7  a  week 
each,  which  seemed  to  us  good  pay.  We  had 
to  give  the  woman  of  our  house  $5  a  week  each 
for  two  weeks,  and  as  we  paid  $1  a  week  each 
for  our  room,  we  nearly  starved  trying  to  live 
on  the  remainder.  At  the  end  of  two  weeks 
we  were  discharged  by  the  forewoman,  though 
there  was  plenty  of  work.  I  learned  afterward 
that  the  forewoman  made  a  great  deal  of 
money  that  way,  by  receiving  pay  for  hiring 
girls  whom  she  afterward  discharged. 

We  seemed  to  be  in  a  worse  state  than  ever 
and  cried  all  the  night  after  we  were  sent  away 
from  the  Sixth  Avenue  place.  But  at  six 
o'clock  in  the  next  morning  we  rose  and  said 
long  prayers,  and  I  wrote  a  sort  of  letter  to 
be  shown.  It  said  like  this : 

"MADAME:    Please  to  behold  us  as  two  girls  who 
have  of  Paris  the  art  dressmaker  from  the  best  models 
[113] 


UNDISTINGUISHED    AMERICANS 

taken  to  make  the  dress  for  the  American,  we  will 
comprehend  so  well  if  you  but  try.     If  you  please. 

ANNETTE, 
AMELIA." 

I  wrote  that  because  I  could  take  time  and 
use  the  correct  language,  as  I  had  found  when 
I  spoke  the  English,  Americans  did  not  under 
stand. 

We  hurried  into  the  street,  having  no  break 
fast,  but  full  of  hope,  for  it  was  the  season  of 
dressmaking  and  we  surely  must  get  some 
thing. 

We  entered  a  fine  place  on  Twenty-third 
Street  and  a  man  behind  a  counter  sent  us 
upstairs,  where  we  found  twenty  women  en 
gaged.  The  proprietress  read  my  letter  and 
asked  us  questions.  She  did  not  seem  to  un 
derstand  well  and  called  a  German  girl  who 
spoke  French. 

I  had  all  my  life  hated  Germans,  but  I  could 
not  hate  this  girl  as  she  spoke  to  us  so  kindly. 

I  told  her  where  we  had  had  experience,  and 
what  we  could  do,  and  she  said  to  the  proprie 
tress  : 

"  We  must  have  these,  Miss  G .    They 

come  from  the  best  place  in  Paris  and  look 
clever." 

"Nonsense!"  said  the  proprietress;  "we 
don't  want  them.  They  are  mere  appren 
tices." 

[114] 


STORY  OF  A  FRENCH  DRESSMAKER 

I  understood  what  she  meant  and  said  in 
French  that  we  were  not  apprentices,  but  of 
long  experience,  and  Annette,  too,  joined  in. 

But  the  proprietress  was  only  pretending. 
She  wanted  us  all  the  time.  So  at  last  she 
said: 

"  But  how  much  money  would  you  want?  " 

"  Seven  dollars  a  week,"  said  I,  because  I 
thought  that  I  might  as  well  ask  for  plenty. 

The  proprietress  almost  screamed: 

"  Seven  dollars  a  week,  and  you  have  just 
landed!" 

"  Oh,  no,"  I  said;  "  we  have  been  here  nearly 
a  month." 

At  last  we  were  engaged  at  $6  a  week  each 
and  they  put  us  at  work  immediately.  Our 
hours  were  from  eight  o'clock  in  the  morning 
till  six  o'clock  in  the  evening.  When  we  went 
home  that  night  we  were  very  happy  and 
treated  ourselves  to  a  little  feast  in  our  room. 
On  six  dollars  a  week  we  knew  that  we  could 
live  finely  and  we  felt  sure  that  we  could  keep 
this  place,  as  they  had  put  us  on  good  work  at 
once  and  we  knew  that  we  had  done  well." 

Our  proprietress  was  full  of  tricks.  In  ap 
pearance  she  was  a  tall,  thin,  sharp  faced 
woman  with  fair  hair.  She  was  very  quick  in 
speech  and  action,  and  a  great  driver  among 
the  girls.  She  did  all  the  measuring  and  cut 
ting  out  and  her  perquisites  included  all  the 
materials  that  were  left  over  from  the  dresses, 
[115] 


UNDISTINGUISHED    AMERICANS 

A  tall  woman  would  need  seventeen  yards 
of  silk  or  other  narrow  goods,  while  one  who 
was  shorter  might  get  along  very  well  with 
fourteen  yards.  Our  proprietress  would 
always  exaggerate  the  amount  of  material 
needed  and  then,  in  cutting  out,  would  be  able 
to  reserve  some  for  herself.  Often  she  got  as 
much  as  two  yards.  These  pieces  she  slipped 
into  a  private  drawer,  of  which  she  had  the 
key.  It  did  not  take  her  long,  therefore,  to  get 
enough  to  make  herself  a  new  skirt  or  a  waist, 
and  odd  pieces  could  be  used  as  piping  or  as 
trimming  for  hats. 

Accordingly  she  was  always  very  well 
dressed,  and  though  sometimes  customers  rec 
ognized  parts  of  their  own  materials  in  her 
costume,  they  seldom  said  anything. 

Once,  though,  I  thought  there  was  going  to 
be  a  scene.  A  stout  lady  who  was  one  of  our 
best  customers  came  in  one  day  and  saw  our 
proprietress  just  going  out  to  lunch.  The 
stout  lady  immediately  stood  still  and  glared 
at  the  proprietress's  new  hat,  which  was  on  her 
head.  It  was  a  very  stylish  hat  and  the  silk 
trimming  was  precisely  the  same  as  the  piping 
of  the  lady's  dress  that  had  recently  been  made 
at  our  place. 

'  Why,  you've  got  my  piping!  "  she  cried. 

The  proprietress  flushed  and  smiled,  but  she 
was  equal  to  the  occasion. 

"  Yes,  Mrs.  Miller,"  she  said,  "  it's  the  very 
same  as  yours.  The  truth  is  I  admired  the 
[116] 


STORY  OF  A  FRENCH  DRESSMAKER 

material  so  much  that  I  sent  out  and  bought 
some.  Don't  you  like  my  hat?  " 

"  Oh,  yes,"  said  the  stout  lady.  "  Where  did 
you  get  that  material?  " 

This  was  a  catch,  because  there  was  only  one 
store  in  town  where  it  could  have  been  bought, 
but  our  proprietress  was  not  to  be  trapped. 

"  One  of  my  girls  got  it  for  me.  I  don't 
know  where  she  got  it,"  she  said. 

"  Humph!  "  exclaimed  the  stout  lady,  and 
wandered  away  without  another  word. 

She  came  back  later  on  and  gave  us  more 
custom.  She  knew  that  she  was  being  robbed, 
but  she  knew,  also,  that  it  was  the  dressmakers' 
rule  to  help  themselves  from  their  customers' 
material. 

On  another  occasion  a  lady  who  had  given 
five  yards  of  wide  ribbon  for  trimming  came 
back  after  she  had  received  the  dress. 

"  I  don't  understand  how  it  is,  Miss  -  — ," 
she  said.  "  I  gave  you  five  yards  of  this  rib 
bon.  There's  only  four  yards  on  the  dress. 
I  measured  it  with  the  tape  measure." 

The  proprietress  produced  tape  measure  and 
gravely  measured  the  trimming. 

"Dear  me!  you're  right,"  she  exclaimed. 
"  Now,  what  can  have  happened  to  that  other 
yard?  Where  can  it  be?  Girls,  did  you  see  it 
any  place?  " 

The  customer  just  sniffed. 

We  all  buzzed  about,  but  it  was  the  propri 
etress  herself  who  found  the  missing  ribbon 
[117] 


UNDISTINGUISHED    AMERICANS 

under  a  pile  of  goods.  She  appeared  to  be 
greatly  surprised,  and  the  customer  sniffed 
again. 

Our  proprietress,  I  think,  never  told  the 
truth  while  she  was  at  business.  She  would 
promise  most  solemnly  to  have  a  dress  made 
up  in  three  days  when  she  knew  quite  well  that 
it  could  not  be  done  in  two  weeks. 

Sometimes  when  the  bell  rang  she  would 
look  out  and  say : 

"  Oh,  girls!  There's  that  Mrs.  K-  -  come 
again.  I  promised  for  sure  that  her  dress 
would  be  ready  to  try  on  this  afternoon  and  I 
haven't  put  the  scissors  in  it  yet.  Run  down, 
Katie,  and  keep  her  in  the  parlor." 

Then  she  would  rush  at  the  goods  and  the 
pattern,  cut  out  with  lightning  speed  and  toss 
the  various  parts  to  different  girls  to  baste. 
In  half  an  hour  there  was  the  dress,  basted, 
ready  to  try  on,  and  the  customer  none  the 
wiser  as  to  how  it  was  done. 

Some  of  our  customers  suffered  greatly  in 
their  efforts  to  be  fashionable,  for  fashion  takes 
no  account  of  the  natural  shape  of  the  human 
body.  It  did  not  matter  so  much  to  the  thin 
women,  because  all  they  had  to  do  was  to  stuff 
their  figures,  but  some  of  the  stout  women 
were  martyrs. 

One  very  beautiful  woman  was  fat  and 
would  not  acknowledge  it,  as  she  had  been 
quite  slim. 

[118] 


STORY    OF    A   FRENCH    DRESSMAKER 

"  My  waist  measure,"  she  said,  "  is  24 
inches." 

She  insisted  on  this  and  made  two  of  us  girls 
pull  her  corset  strings  till  we  secured  the  right 
girth. 

My!  that  was  a  job!  The  squeezing  must 
have  hurt  her  awfully.  She  was  gasping  for 
breath  and  perspiring  rivers,  but  she  would 
not  give  up. 

When  we  sent  the  dress  home  she  brought 


'  It  doesn't  fit,"  she  said. 

'  Where?  "  asked  the  proprietress. 

"  The  waist  is  too  small." 

"The  waist  is  24  inches.  You  gave  that 
yourself  as  your  measurement.  All  you  have 
to  do  is  to  have  your  corsets  tightened  as  they 
were  on  the  day  when  you  were  measured." 

The  poor  lady  looked  at  us  and  we  all  nod 
ded  assent.  We  had  heard  her  insist  that  24 
was  her  measurement.  Soon  she  was  again  in 
the  hands  of  the  tighteners,  gasping  and  per 
spiring. 

When  the  corsets  were  well  pulled  in  the 
dress  fitted  like  a  glove,  but  the  poor  lady's 
face  was  the  color  of  blood  and  she  could 
hardly  speak. 

"I  m  —  m  —  must  —  have  —  been  mistaken!" 
she  gasped. 

"Certainly!"  said  our  proprietress.  "I 
never  saw  a  better  fit." 

[119] 


UNDISTINGUISHED    AMERICANS 

The  poor  lady  staggered  away  trying  to 
look  comfortable.  I  don't  believe  she  could 
wear  that  dress,  though,  as  she  was  growing 
stouter. 

The  only  thing  to  be  done  for  stout  people 
is  to  make  everything  plain,  avoid  bright  colors 
and  have  all  lines  running  up  and  down.  That 
gives  the  appearance  of  greater  height  and 
less  girth. 

Lines  running  up  and  down  make  short 
women  look  taller.  As  to  tall  women,  they 
don't  want  to  look  shorter  now.  It's  the  fash 
ion  to  be  tall.  The  plump,  cosy,  little  women 
is  out  of  date. 

The  first  thing  that  I  and  Annette  did  when 
we  began  to  have  a  little  money  was  to  move 
away  from  the  horrible  place  in  South  Fifth 
Avenue.  We  never  could  understand  those 
people.  Most  of  them  were  connected  with 
theaters,  .and  they  kept  hours  that  seemed 
crazy.  We  got  a  room  in  West  Twenty- 
fourth  Street  for  $3  a  week — a  very  good 
room,  too — and  made  arrangement  with  a  res 
taurant  to  give  us  breakfast  and  supper  for 
$2.50  per  week  each. 

So  our  starvation  was  at  an  end,  and  we  had 
$2  a  week  to  do  with  as  we  pleased.  In  a  few 
weeks  we  had  good  clothing,  and  after  that  we 
were  able  to  save  a  little. 

Annette  came  to  me  one  day  with  her  eyes 
as  big  as  saucers. 

"What  do  you  think!"  she  said.  "That 
[120] 


STORY  OF  A  FRENCH  DRESSMAKER 

girl  Rosa  gets  $12  a  week  and  she  is  not  as 
clever  as  us." 

We  were  both  very  angry  at  Rosa,  though 
I  suppose  it  was  not  her  fault.  Still  she  had 
no  right  to  get  more.  It  was  ridiculous;  we 
were  the  better  workwomen. 

"  Wait,"  said  I;  "we  are  learning  the  En 
glish." 

We  waited  six  months  and  then  asked  the 
proprietress  to  give  us  $12  a  week.  She 
screamed  at  us  with  rage. 

"  What  impudence!  "  she  said. 

But  we  only  smiled;  we  knew  enough  of 
the  English  now  and  were  not  afraid. 

She  gave  us  $9  a  week  each  and  we  stayed 
there  six  months  more.  Then,  when  the  holi 
day  season  was  coming  on,  we  went  to  a  great 
dressmaking  place  in  Fifth  Avenue  and  told 
the  proprietress  about  our  Paris  experience  and 
where  we  were  now  working.  She  asked  how 
much  we  were  getting  and  we  said  $18  a  week. 

That  was  true,  too,  because  each  of  us  got 
$9.  We  would  not  tell  what  was  not  true. 

The  proprietress  said:  "Well,  if  they  give 
you  $18  a  week  in  Twenty-third  Street  we  will 
give  you  $20  a  week  here." 

When  we  told  the  proprietress  of  the 
Twenty- third  Street  shop  she  screamed  again, 
and  said  that  we  could  not  go,  that  she  would 
give  us  a  bad  character.  We  said  it  was  no 
matter,  we  would  not  ask  the  character  from 
her.  Then  she  cried,  and  said  that  we  had  in- 
[121] 


UNDISTINGUISHED    AMERICANS 

gratitude  and  she  would  give  us  $12  a  week 
each. 

We  cried,  too.  Because  after  all  she  was 
not  such  a  bad  one  to  work  for.  But  we 
had  to  go,  as  it  was  too  much  money  that  we 
wanted  for  staying. 

So  we  began  in  Fifth  Avenue,  and  now  it 
was  quite  new  the  sort  of  trade.  We  have  been 
in  that  place  ever  since.  We  have  been  in  the 
very  finest  houses  of  New  York,  talking  with 
all  the  beauties  and  trying  on  their  dresses 
for  them. 

The  girls  here  are  very  beautiful,  but  I  can 
not  like  them.  They  have  not  the  heart  of 
French  women.  All  that  is  given  to  them  they 
take  as  their  due  and  they  are  not  grateful. 
They  love,  but  it  is  only  themselves.  They  do 
not  care  for  men,  except  to  have  them  as  slaves 
bringing  them  the  money  that  they  so  much 
need.  For  fine  dress  they  will  do  anything. 

I  have  told  of  the  tricks  that  dressmakers 
play  on  ladies,  but  they  are  no  worse  than 
those  that  ladies  play  on  dressmakers  and  on 
other  people.  In  the  first  place,  many  of  them 
won't  pay  their  bills.  In  the  second  place 
they  get  costumes  made  and  delivered  that 
they  wear  one  night  and  then  return,  saying 
that  they  have  changed  their  minds,  or  that  the 
costume  doesn't  fit — they  deny  that  they  have 
worn  it  except  to  try  on: — they  get  $50  or  $100 
cash  and  have  it  charged  as  a  dress  or  hats  in 
the  bill,  so  as  to  deceive  their  husbands.  They 
[122] 


STORY  OF  A  FRENCH  DRESSMAKER 

are  finicky  and  want  things  changed  because 
their  minds  have  changed.  They  expect  us  to 
remake  them  in  spite  of  nature.  All  the  fat 
women  insist  that  we  shall  make  them  look 
thin. 

Then  if  they  quarrel  with  us  they  use 
slander. 

One  of  our  customers,  a  very  sweet  little 
lady,  who  is  quite  wealthy,  said  the  other  day 
to  our  proprietress : 

"  How  have  you  offended  Mrs.  L—   —  ?  " 

"  Have  I  offended  her?  "  the  proprietress 
asked. 

"  It  seems  so.  I  was  walking  with  her  on 
the  street  the  other  day  when  you  passed.  You 
bowed  to  me  and  I  responded,  when  Mrs. 
L—  -  said:  '  Oh,  do  you  know  that  person? ' 
'  Why,  yes,'  said  I,  '  that's  my  dressmaker/ 
'  Indeed! '  said  she;  '  how  can  you  stand  her? 
She  fits  so  badly.'  '  I've  always  found  her  a 
true  artist,'  said  I." 

Our  proprietress  was  very  angry  when  she 
heard  this  story. 

"  Now  I  will  tell  the  whole  truth,"  she  said. 

*  That  woman  owes  me  $850,  and  it  would  be 

more  than  $1,000,  but  the  last  costume  I  sent 

C.  O.  D.     '  My  husband  is  not  home  and  I 

have  no  money,'  said  she  to  the  girl.    The  girl 

in  spite  of  her  protests  brought  the  costume 

away.     She  came  to  me  and  said,  *  I  have  to 

wear  that  costume  this  evening.    I  am  going 

to  the  ball ! '    *  Then  you  must  pay  for  it/  said 

[128] 


UNDISTINGUISHED    AMERICANS 

I.  '  But  I  have  not  the  money  and  my  hus 
band  is  away.'  '  Get  the  money,'  said  I.  She 
did  get  it  and  I  gave  her  the  costume,  but  she 
has  slandered  me  ever  since." 

Ah!  it  is  a  good  country  to  work  in,  no 
doubt.  Annette  is  now  getting  $40  a  week 
and  I  almost  as  much,  and  we  have  plenty 
saved;  but  I  am  not  to  live  here. 

To  one  born  in  England,  Germany,  Austria, 
Holland  or  Scandinavia  this  may  appear  fine, 
but  not  so  to  the  French. 

There  is  but  one  France  and  only  one  Paris 
in  all  the  world,  and  soon,  very  soon,  Annette 
and  I  will  be  aboard  some  great  ship  that  will 
bear  us  back  there. 


CHAPTER   VII 

THE    LIFE    STORY    OF    A    GERMAN    NURSE    GIRL 

The  first  name  of  the  pretty  nurse  girl  who  writes  this  chapter 
is  Agnes,  but  it's  not  worth  while  giving  her  last  name  because, 
as  the  last  paragraph  implies,  it  is  liable  soon  to  be  changed. 

I  WAS  born  just  twenty  years  ago  in  the 
old,  old  city  of  Treves,  in  what  was  once 
France,  but  is  now  Germany.  There  were 
eight  children  in  our  family,  five  girls  and  three 
boys,  and  we  were  comfortably  off  until  my 
father  died,  which  happened  when  I  was  only 
three  years  old. 

My  father  was  a  truckman,  carrying  goods 
from  the  railway  stations  to  the  shops;  he 
had  a  number  of  wagons  going  and  had  built 
up  a  good  business,  though  he  was  always  ill 
from  some  disease  that  he  contracted  when  a 
soldier  in  the  war  with  France.  It  was  con 
sumption,  I  believe,  and  it  finally  carried  him 
off.  We  were  living  at  the  time  in  a  fine  new 
house  that  he  had  built  near  the  Moselle,  but 
we  were  soon  obliged  to  move,  because  though 
my  mother  was  a  good  business  woman,  every 
one  robbed  her,  and  even  my  uncle  made  the 
mortgage  come  down  on  our  house  without 
telling  her — which  she  said  was  very  mean. 
[125] 


UNDISTINGUISHED    AMERICANS 

By  the  time  I  was  five  years  old  my  mother 
had  lost  everything  except  the  money  she  got 
from  the  Government,  which  was  enough  to 
keep  her,  but  the  family  had  to  hreak  up,  and 
I  went  away  to  a  school  kept  by  Sisters  of 
Christian  Liebe,  in  another  city.  The  Govern 
ment  paid  for  me  there  on  account  of  my 
being  a  soldier's  orphan — all  of  us  children 
had  allowances  like  that. 

From  the  time  I  went  away  to  that  school 
till  I  was  fifteen  years  of  age  I  did  not  once 
see  my  mother,  but  stayed  in  school  during  all 
the  holidays.  But  in  spite  of  that  I  was  not 
sad.  It  was  the  pleasantest  time  of  my  life, 
and  I  often  wonder  if  I  shall  ever  be  as  happy 
again. 

The  school  was  for  Catholics,  and  I  was 
glad  I  was  a  Catholic  it  was  so  good  to  be 
there ;  and  I  heard  that  at  the  school  to  which 
the  Lutheran  children  went  the  teachers  were 
very  severe.  However  that  might  be,  our 
Sisters  were  among  the  kindest  women  that 
ever  lived  and  they  loved  us  all  dearly. 

Every  one  at  the  school  made  much  of  me 
because  I  was  so  little — a  gay  little  thing  with 
fuzzy,  light  hair  and  blue  eyes,  and  plenty  to 
say  for  myself  and  a  good  voice  for  singing. 
I  learned  quickly,  too,  and  when  play  time 
came  I  played  hard. 

We  got  up  at  half -past  six  o'clock  each 
morning,  and  had  mass  three  times  a  week  and 
morning  prayer  when  there  was  no  mass.  At 
[126] 


STORY    OF    A    GERMAN    NURSE    GIRL 

eight  o'clock  school  began  and  lasted  to  ten, 
when  there  was  half  an  hour  for  play,  then  an 
hour  more  school,  then  more  play  and  then 
lunch,  after  which  we  worked  in  the  garden 
or  sewed  or  sang  or  played  till  six  o'clock, 
when  we  had  dinner,  and  we  all  went  to  bed  at 
eight.  We  did  not  always  go  to  sleep  though, 
but  sometimes  lit  candles  after  the  Sisters  had 
gone  away  and  had  feasts  of  apples  and  cakes 
and  candies. 

There  were  about  eighty  boys  in  this  school 
and  fifty-five  girls — none  of  them  older  than 
fifteen  years.  We  had  a  very  large  play 
ground,  and  though  the  boys  and  girls  were 
kept  separate  they  yet  found  means  of  con 
versing,  and  when  I  was  eleven  years  of  age  I 
fell  in  love  with  a  tall,  slim,  thoughtful,  dark- 
haired  boy  named  Fritz,  whose  parents  lived 
in  Frankfort.  We  used  to  talk  to  each  other 
through  the  bars  of  the  fence  which  divided 
our  playground.  He  was  a  year  and  a  half 
older  than  I,  and  I  thought  him  a  man.  The 
only  time  I  was  ever  beaten  at  that  school  was 
on  his  account.  We  had  been  talking  together 
on  the  playground;  I  did  not  heed  the  bell  and 
was  late  getting  in,  and  when  the  Sister  asked 
what  kept  me  I  did  not  answer.  She  insisted 
on  knowing,  and  Fritz  and  I  looked  at  each 
other.  The  Sister  caught  us  laughing. 

Whipping  on  the  hands  with  a  rod  was 
the  punishment  that  they  had  there  for  very 
naughty  children,  and  that  is  what  I  got.  It 
[127] 


UNDISTINGUISHED    AMERICANS 

did  not  hurt  much,  and  that  night  at  half  past 
nine  o'clock,  when  all  the  house  was  still,  there 
came  a  tapping  at  our  dormitory  window,  and 
when  it  was  opened  we  found  Fritz  there  cry 
ing  about  the  way  I  had  been  whipped.  He 
had  climbed  up  one  of  the  veranda  posts  and 
had  an  orange  for  me.  The  other  girls  never 
told.  They  said  it  was  so  fine  and  romantic. 

Fritz  and  I  kept  up  our  friendship  till  he 
had  to  leave  the  place,  which  was  when  I  had 
grown  to  be  nearly  thirteen  years  of  age.  He 
climbed  to  our  dormitory  again  to  bid  me 
good-bye,  and  tell  me  that  when  I  was  free 
from  the  school  he  would  seek  me  out  and 
marry  me.  We  cried  together  as  he  told  me 
his  plans  for  being  a  great  man,  and  all  that 
night  and  the  next  night,  too,  I  cried  alone; 
but  I  never  saw  him  again,  and  I'm  afraid  that 
his  plans  must  have  miscarried. 

When  I  was  fifteen  years  of  age  I  left 
school  and  returned  to  my  mother,  who  was 
then  living  in  a  flat  with  some  of  my  brothers 
and  sisters.  Two  of  my  brothers  were  in 
the  army  and  one  of  my  sisters  was  in 
America,  while  another  sister  was  married  in 
Germany. 

I  did  not  like  it  much  at  home.  My  mother 
was  almost  a  stranger  to  me,  and  after  the 
kindness  of  the  Sisters  and  the  pleasantness 
of  their  school  she  seemed  very  stern. 

I  went  to  work  for  a  milliner.  The  hours 
were  from  eight  o'clock  in  the  morning  till  six 
[128] 


STORY    OF    A    GERMAN    NURSE    GIRL 

in  the  evening,  but  when  there  was  much  bus 
iness  the  milliner  would  keep  us  till  nine 
o'clock  at  night.  I  got  no  money,  and  was  to 
serve  for  two  years  for  nothing  as  an  appren 
tice. 

But  the  milliner  found  that  I  was  already  so 
clever  with  the  needle  that  she  set  me  to  work 
making  hats  and  dresses  after  the  first  two 
weeks  that  I  was  working  for  her,  and  when  I 
had  been  there  six  months  I  could  see  that  I 
had  nothing  more  to  learn  in  her  place  and 
that  staying  there  was  just  throwing  away  my 
time. 

Needlework  seemed  to  come  naturally  to 
me,  while  I  disliked  cooking  and  was  not  much 
good  at  it.  My  two  elder  sisters,  on  the  other 
hand,  were  stupid  at  sewing  and  embroidery, 
but  master  hands  at  cooking.  My  eldest  sis 
ter  was  such  a  good  cook  that  her  husband 
started  a  restaurant  so  that  she  might  have  a 
chance  to  use  her  talents ;  and  as  for  my  second 
eldest  sister,  within  two  months  after  she 
landed  in  America — where  she  was  sent  by  my 
eldest  sister — she  was  earning  $35  a  month  as 
a  cook  for  one  of  the  rich  families. 

My  sister  in  America  sent  money  for  my 
eldest  brother  to  go  to  her  when  his  time  in  the 
army  was  done.  We  were  all  glad  to  see  him 
go,  because  he  had  been  a  sergeant  and  was  so 
used  to  commanding  that  he  tried  to  command 
everybody  he  met.  He  even  tried  to  command 
me! 

[129] 


UNDISTINGUISHED    AMERICANS 

Such  ways  won't  do  outside  of  the  army. 
Another  thing  that  we  disliked  was  that,  hav 
ing  been  a  sergeant,  he  was  too  proud  to  work, 
so  we  were  glad  to  see  him  go  to  America.  He 
lived  for  awhile  by  borrowing  money  from  my 
sister  till  she  got  married  to  a  mechanical  engi 
neer,  who  would  not  have  him  about  the  house 
when  he  heard  of  his  actions. 

So  he  had  to  do  something,  and  became  a 
butler,  and  a  very  good  one,  too,  making  plenty 
of  money  but  spending  it  all  on  himself.  He 
is  employed  by  a  family  on  the  east  side  of 
Central  Park  now,  getting  $60  a  month. 
When  I  went  to  see  him  a  year  ago  he  pre 
tended  that  he  did  not  know  me.  He  has  also 
forgotten  my  sister  who  helped  him  to  come 
out  here,  and  he  has  never  sent  a  dollar  to 
mother. 

I  heard  about  how  easy  it  was  to  make 
money  in  America  and  became  very  anxious  to 
go  there,  and  very  tired  of  making  hats  and 
dresses  for  nothing  for  a  woman  who  was  sell 
ing  them  at  high  prices.  I  was  restless  in  my 
home  also;  mother  seemed  so  stern  and  could 
not  understand  that  I  wanted  amusement. 

I  was  not  giddy  and  not  at  all  inclined  to 
flirt,  but  I  had  been  used  to  plenty  of  play  at 
the  school,  and  this  all  work  and  no  play  and 
no  money  to  spend  was  hard. 

If  I  had  been  inclined  to  flirt  there  was 
plenty  to  do  in  Treves,  for  the  city  was  full  of 
soldiers,  young  fellows  who,  when  they  wore 
[130] 


STORY    OF    A    GERMAN    NURSE    GIRL 

their  uniforms,  thought  that  a  girl  could  not 
fail  to  be  in  love  with  them;  but  they  made  a 
mistake  when  they  met  me.  They  used  to 
chirrup  after  me,  just  like  birds,  but  I  would 
turn  and  make  faces  to  show  what  I  thought 
of  them — I  was  not  quite  sixteen  then. 

There  were  officers  there,  too,  but  they  never 
noticed  me.  They  belong  to  the  high  families, 
and  go  about  the  streets  with  their  noses  up  in 
the  air  and  their  mustaches  waxed  up,  trying  to 
look  like  the  Emperor.  I  thought  they  were 
horrid. 

I  grew  more  and  more  tired  of  all  work  and 
no  play,  and  more  and  more  anxious  to  go  to 
America;  and  at  last  mother,  too,  grew  anx 
ious  to  see  me  go.  She  met  me  one  night  walk 
ing  in  the  street  with  a  young  man,  and  said  to 
me  afterward: 

'  It  is  better  that  you  go." 

There  was  nothing  at  all  in  my  walking 
with  that  young  man,  but  she  thought  there 
was  and  asked  my  eldest  sister  to  lend  me  the 
money  to  go  to  America  to  my  second  eldest 
sister,  and  a  month  later  I  sailed  from  Ant 
werp,  the  fare  costing  $55. 

My  second  eldest  sister  with  her  husband 
met  me  at  Ellis  Island  and  they  were  very  glad 
to  see  me,  and  I  went  to  live  with  them  in  their 
flat  in  West  Thirty-fourth  Street.  A  week 
later  I  was  an  apprentice  in  a  Sixth  Avenue 
millinery  store  earning  four  dollars  a  week. 
I  only  paid  three  dollars  a  week  for  board, 
[131] 


UNDISTINGUISHED    AMERICANS 

and  was  soon  earning  extra  money  by  making 
dresses  and  hats  at  home  for  customers  of  my 
own,  so  that  it  was  a  great  change  from  Ger 
many.  But  the  hours  in  the  millinery  store 
were  the  same  as  in  Germany,  and  there  was 
overtime,  too,  occasionally;  and  though  I  was 
now  paid  for  it  I  felt  that  I  wanted  something 
different — more  time  to  myself  and  a  differ 
ent  way  of  living.  I  wanted  more  pleasure. 
Our  house  was  dull,  and  though  I  went  to 
Coney  Island  or  to  a  Harlem  picnic  park  with 
the  other  girls  now  and  then,  I  thought  I'd 
like  a  change. 

So  I  went  out  to  service,  getting  twenty- 
two  dollars  a  month  as  a  nursery  governess  in 
a  family  where  there  were  three  servants  be 
sides  the  cook. 

I  had  three  children  to  attend  to,  one  four, 
one  six  and  one  seven  years  of  age.  The  one 
who  was  six  years  of  age  was  a  boy ;  the  other 
two  were  girls.  I  had  to  look  after  them,  to 
play  with  them,  to  take  them  about  and  amuse 
them,  and  to  teach  them  German — which  was 
easy  to  me,  because  I  knew  so  little  English. 
They  were  the  children  of  a  German  mother, 
who  talked  to  them  in  their  own  language,  so 
they  already  knew  something  of  it.  I  got 
along  with  these  children  very  well  and  stayed 
with  them  for  two  years,  teaching  them  what  I 
knew  and  going  out  to  a  picnic  or  a  ball  or 
something  of  that  sort  about  once  a  week,  for 
I  am  very  fond  of  dancing. 
[182] 


STORY    OF    A    GERMAN    NURSE    GIRL 

We  went  to  Newport  and  took  a  cottage 
there  in  the  summer  time,  and  our  house  was 
full  of  company.  A  certain  gentleman  there 
once  told  me  that  I  was  the  prettiest  girl  in  the 
place,  with  a  great  deal  more  of  the  same  sort 
of  talk.  I  was  dressed  in  gray,  with  white  in 
sertion,  and  was  wearing  roses  at  the  time  he 
said  that.  He  caught  me  passing  through  the 
parlor  when  the  others  were  away.  Of  course 
I  paid  no  attention  to  him,  but  it  was  early  in 
the  day.  It  was  generally  late  in  the  evening 
when  gentlemen  paid  such  compliments. 

I  enjoyed  life  with  this  family  and  they 
seemed  to  like  me,  for  they  kept  me  till  the 
children  were  ready  to  go  to  school.  After  I 
left  them  I  went  into  another  family,  where 
there  were  a  very  old  man  and  his  son  and 
granddaughter  who  was  married  and  had  two 
children.  They  had  a  house  up  on  Riverside 
Drive,  and  the  old  man  was  very  rich.  The 
house  was  splendid  and  they  had  five  carriages 
and  ten  horses,  and  a  pair  of  Shetland  ponies 
for  the  children.  There  were  twelve  servants, 
and  I  dined  with  the  housekeeper  and  butler,  of 
course — because  we  had  to  draw  the  line.  I 
got  $25  a  month  here  and  two  afternoons  a 
week,  and  if  I  wanted  to  go  any  place  in  par 
ticular  they  let  me  off  for  it. 

These  people  had  a  fine  place  down  on  Long 

Island  to  which  we  all  went  in  the  summer, 

and  there  I  had  to  ramble  around  with  the 

children,  boating,  bathing,  crabbing,  fishing 

[133] 


UNDISTINGUISHED    AMERICANS 

and  playing  all  their  games.    It  was  good  fun, 
and  I  grew  healthy  and  strong. 

The  children  were  a  boy  of  ten  and  girl  of 
eight  years.  They  were  restless  and  full  of 
life  but  good  natured,  and  as  they  liked  me  I 
would  have  stayed  there  till  they  grew  too  old 
to  need  me  any  more,  but  that  something  awful 
happened  during  the  second  summer  that  we 
were  spending  on  Long  Island. 

It  was  one  night  in  June,  when  the  moon 
was  very  large  and  some  big  stars  were  shin 
ing.  I  had  been  to  the  village  with  the  house 
keeper  to  get  the  mail,  and  at  the  post  office 
we  met  the  butler  and  a  young  man  who  sailed 
the  boats  for  us.  Our  way  home  lay  across 
the  fields  and  the  young  man  with  me  kept 
stopping  to  admire  things,  so  that  the  others 
got  away  ahead  of  us. 

He  admired  the  moon  and  the  stars  and  the 
sky,  and  the  shine  of  the  water  on  the  waves 
and  the  way  that  the  trees  cast  their  shadows, 
and  he  didn't  seem  to  be  thinking  about  me  at 
all,  just  talking  to  me  as  he  might  to  any 
friend.  But  when  we  walked  into  a  shadowy 
place  he  said : 

"  Aren't  you  afraid  of  catching  cold?  "  and 
touched  my  wrap. 

"  Oh,  no,"  I  said. 

"  You  had  better  draw  that  together,"  said 
he,  and  put  his  arm  about  it  to  make  it  tight. 
He  made  it  very  tight,  and  the  first  thing  I 
knew  he  kissed  me. 

[134] 


STORY   OF   A    GERMAN    NURSE    GIRL 

It  was  done  so  quickly  that  I  had  no  idea — 
I  never  saw  a  man  kiss  any  one  so  quickly. 

I  gave  such  a  scream  that  one  could  hear  it 
a  mile  and  boxed  his  ears,  and  as  soon  as  I 
could  tear  myself  away  I  ran  as  fast  as  I 
could  to  the  house,  and  he  ran  as  fast  as 
he  could  to  the  village. 

I  was  very  angry  and  crying.  He  had  given 
me  no  warning  at  all,  and  besides  I  did  not  like 
him  enough.  Such  impudence!  But  I  prob 
ably  would  not  have  said  anything  about  the 
matter  at  the  house,  but  that  the  next  day  all 
the  people  in  the  village  were  talking  about  it. 
My  mistress  heard  of  it  and  called  me  in,  and  I 
told  her  the  truth ;  but  she  seemed  to  think  that 
I  could  help  being  kissed,  and  I  grew  stubborn 
then  and  said  I  would  not  stay  any  more. 

I  am  of  a  very  yielding  disposition  when 
coaxed,  and  anything  that  I  possess  I  will  give 
away  to  any  one  who  persists  in  asking  me  for 
it.  That's  one  of  my  faults;  my  friends  all 
tell  me  that  I  am  too  generous.  But  at  the 
same  time,  when  treated  unjustly,  I  grow 
stubborn  and  won't  give  way. 

And  it  was  unjust  to  blame  me  for  what 
that  young  man  did.  Who  would  have 
thought  he  would  dare  to  do  such  a  thing  as 
kiss  me?  Why,  he  was  only  the  young  man 
who  sailed  the  boat !  And  as  to  my  screaming 
so  loudly  I  could  not  help  it;  any  girl  would 
have  screamed  as  loudly  if  she  had  been  kissed 
as  suddenly. 

[135] 


UNDISTINGUISHED    AMERICANS 

I  went  back  to  my  sister's  house  in  New 
York  after  I  left  this  place,  and  stayed  there 
a  month  resting.  I  had  been  nearly  four 
years  in  the  country,  and  in  spite  of  sending  $6 
a  month  to  mother  during  all  that  time  and 
sending  money  to  bring  my  second  eldest 
brother  here  I  had  $485  in  the  savings  bank. 

A  girl  working  as  I  was  working  does  not 
need  to  spend  much.  I  seldom  had  to  buy 
a  thing,  there  was  so  much  that  came  to  me 
just  the  least  bit  worn. 

After  I  had  rested  and  enjoyed  a  holiday  I 
secured  another  situation,  this  time  to  mind  the 
baby  of  a  very  rich  young  couple.  It  was  the 
first  and  only  baby  of  the  mistress,  and  so 
it  had  been  spoiled  till  I  came  to  take  charge. 
It  had  red  hair  and  green  eyes,  and  a  fearful 
temper — really  vicious. 

I  had  thought  that  the  place  would  be  an 
easy  one,  but  I  soon  found  out  that  this  was  a 
great  mistake.  The  baby  was  .eighteen 
months  old,  and  it  had  some  settled  bad  habits. 
The  maid  and  its  mother  used  to  give  it  its  own 
way  in  everything. 

"  It  won't  go  in  the  carriage,"  said  the  maid 
to  me  when  I  first  took  charge. 

'  It  will  with  me,"  said  I. 

"  It  sleeps  all  day  and  cries  all  night,"  said 
the  maid. 

"  It's  been  spoiled  by  getting  its  own  way, 
that's  the  trouble,"  said  I. 
[136] 


STORY    OF    A    GERMAN    NURSE    GIRL 

So  I  put  it  in  the  carriage  and  took  it  out  to 
Central  Park,  in  a  shady  place  down  by  the 
lake.  It  fought  and  struggled  and  howled  as 
if  it  would  like  to  kill  me,  but  I  had  brought  a 
good  book  and  I  paid  no  attention  to  it. 

It  had  an  orange,  a  bottle  of  milk  and  some 
cakes,  and  threw  them  all  away.  I  didn't  even 
look  at  it.  It  cried  for  nearly  four  hours 
steadily,  but  we  had  the  place  to  ourselves  and 
I  didn't  mind. 

When  I  was  good  and  ready  I  took  it  to 
the  restaurant  and  gave  it  a  little  ice  cream, 
for  I  knew  that  it  was  sure  to  be  hot  and 
thirsty.  I  was  sorry  for  doing  that,  however, 
because  it  cried  and  fought  me  again  when  I 
put  it  back  in  the  carriage.  It  wanted  me  to 
carry  it  all  the  way  in  my  arms,  which  I  was 
determined  not  to  do. 

So  the  first  day  that  I  had  it  in  charge  the 
baby  did  not  get  any  sleep,  and  was  good  and 
tired  when  its  proper  bedtime  came.  The 
maid  told  me  that  it  would  not  go  to  sleep 
without  being  rocked;  but  I  said  that  I  was  in 
charge  of  that  baby  now  and  it  would  have  to 
give  up  its  crankiness.  I  put  it  to  bed  and  it 
did  not  wait  for  any  rocking ;  it  went  right  off 
to  sleep. 

The  mistress  came  in  and  said  that  I  was  a 

clever,  good  girl,  and  she  was  sure  that  I  would 

get  along  finely  with  the  baby — that  all  it 

needed  was  some  one  who  understood  and  sym- 

[137] 


UNDISTINGUISHED    AMERICANS 

pathized  with  it.  She  also  said  that  it  looked 
like  a  little  angel.  I  wondered  at  her  taste  in 
angels. 

Next  day  I  carried  the  baby  out  to  the  park 
again  for  another  lesson.  It  was  in  a  dread 
ful  temper,  and  when  it  was  being  dressed  it 
beat  the  maid.  It  used  to  slap  its  mother  and 
the  maid  in  the  face,  but  it  never  treated  me  in 
that  manner.  I  would  not  allow  it.  I  would 
hold  up  my  finger  and  say,  "  B-a-a-a-a-a-by!  " 
and  it  would  understand  and  stop.  It  saw 
something  in  my  eye  that  made  it  keep  quiet. 
I  have  great  influence  over  children. 

We  went  down  by  the  lake  again  that  sec 
ond  day,  and  I  read  a  good  German  book  and 
let  the  baby  rage.  When  it  was  crying  it  could 
not  be  sleeping,  and  it  was  far  better  to  have  it 
cry  in  the  daytime  than  at  night,  when  it  dis 
turbed  the  whole  house. 

The  baby  threw  everything  out  of  its  car 
riage,  even  its  coverlets  and  pillows,  and  tried 
to  fall  out  itself,  but  it  was  tied  in.  It  cried 
till  it  exhausted  itself  inventing  new  ways  of 
screaming.  I  sat  at  a  distance  from  it,  so 
that  its  screaming  would  not  annoy  me  too 
much,  and  read  my  book  till  it  had  finished. 
Then  I  went  and  got  some  ice  cream  for  my 
self,  and  gave  the  baby  very  little.  I  wanted 
to  teach  it  to  do  without  things.  It  had  been 
in  the  habit  of  getting  everything  it  cried  for, 
and  that  had  made  it  hard  to  live  with.  That 
night,  again,  the  baby  went  to  sleep  without 
[138] 


STORY    OF    A    GERMAN    NURSE    GIRL 

rocking,  and  the  young  mother  was  much 
pleased  with  my  management  and  gave  me  a 
nice  silk  waist. 

Day  after  day  we  went  on  like  that.  I  took 
the  baby  some  place  where  it  could  have  its 
cry  out  without  disturbing  anybody,  and  I 
didn't  allow  it  to  sleep  in  the  daytime,  and  so 
had  it  good  and  tired  when  night  came  on  and 
other  people  wanted  to  sleep.  It  never  failed 
to  cry  and  struggle  and  throw  its  toys  and 
food  away,  to  show  its  rage,  but  I  would  have 
made  a  good  baby  of  it  had  it  not  been  for  the 
mother  and  the  maid.  When  I  wasn't  on  hand 
they  spoiled  it  by  giving  it  all  its  own  way. 
Even  when  I  was  on  hand  the  mother  was 
constantly  running  into  the  room  and  petting 
the  baby.  At  its  slightest  cry  she  would  come 
to  see  what  it  wanted,  and  hold  things  up  for 
it  to  choose. 

This  made  discipline  impossible,  and  in  the 
end  the  baby  was  too  much  for  me.  I  was 
made  to  carry  it  about,  and  to  get  up  and  walk 
with  it  in  the  night,  and  at  last  my  health  broke 
down  and  I  actually  had  to  go  to  a  hospital. 

When  I  got  out  I  stayed  at  my  sister's  for 
a  month,  and  then  went  as  a  nursery  governess 
in  a  family  where  there  are  three  children, 
none  of  them  over  eight  years  of  age.  I  have 
to  teach  them  their  lessons,  including  German, 
and  to  take  them  out  driving  and  playing.  I 
have  recovered  my  health,  but  I  will  never 
again  undertake  to  manage  a  strange  baby. 
[189] 


UNDISTINGUISHED    AMERICANS 

The  duties  are  light;  I  have  two  afternoons 
a  week  to  myself  and  practically  all  the  cloth 
ing  I  need  to  wear.  My  salary  is  $25  a 
month. 

Wherever  I  have  been  employed  here  the 
food  has  always  been  excellent;  in  fact,  pre 
cisely  the  same  as  that  furnished  to  the  em 
ployer's  families.  In  Germany  it  is  not  so. 
Servants  are  all  put  on  an  allowance,  and 
their  food  is  very  different  from  that  given  to 
their  masters. 

I  like  this  country.  I  have  a  great  many 
friends  in  New  York  and  I  enjoy  my  outings 
with  them.  We  go  to  South  Beach  or  North 
Beach  or  Glen  Island  or  Rockaway  or  Coney 
Island.  If  we  go  on  a  boat  we  dance  all  the 
way  there  and  all  the  way  back,  and  we  dance 
nearly  all  the  time  we  are  there. 

I  like  Coney  Island  best  of  all.  It  is  a  won- 
derfuLand  beautiful  place.  I  took  a  German 
friend,  a  girl  who  had  just  come  out,  down 
there  last  week,  and  when  we  had  been  on  the 
razzle-dazzle,  the  chute  and  the  loop-the-loop, 
and  down  in  the  coal  mine  and  all  over  the 
Bowery,  and  up  in  the  tower  and  everywhere 
else,  I  asked  her  how  she  liked  it.  She  said : 

"  Ach,  it  is  just  like  what  I  see  when  I  dream 
of  heaven." 

Yet  I  have  heard  some  of  the  high  people 

with  whom  I  have  been  living  say  that  Coney 

Island  is  not  tony.     The  trouble  is  that  these 

high  people  don't  know  how  to  dance.     I  have 

[140] 


STORY    OF    A    GERMAN    NURSE    GIRL 

to  laugh  when  I  see  them  at  their  balls  and 
parties.  If  only  I  could  get  out  on  the  floor 
and  show  them  how — they  would  be  aston 
ished. 

Two  years  ago,  when  I  was  with  a  friend  at 
Rockaway  Beach,  I  was  introduced  to  a  young 
man  who  has  since  asked  me  to  marry  him. 
He  is  a  German  from  the  Rhine  country,  and 
has  been  ten  years  in  this  country.  Of  course 
he  is  a  tall,  dark  man,  because  I  am  so  small 
and  fair.  It  is  always  that  way.  Some 
of  our  friends  laugh  at  us  and  say  that  we  look 
like  a  milestone  walking  with  a  mile,  but  I 
don't  think  that  it  is  any  of  their  business  and 
tell  them  so.  Such  things  are  started  by  girls 
who  are  jealous  because  they  have  no  steady 
company. 

I  don't  want  to  get  married  yet,  because 
when  a  girl  marries  she  can't  have  so  much 
fun — or  rather,  she  can't  go  about  with  more 
than  one  young  man.  But  being  engaged  is 
almost  as  bad.  I  went  to  the  theater  with 
another  young  man  one  night,  and  Herman 
was  very  angry.  We  had  a  good  quarrel,  and 
he  did  not  come  to  see  me  for  a  week. 

A  good-looking  girl  can  have  a  fine  time 
when  she  is  single,  but  if  she  stays  single  too 
long  she  loses  her  good  looks,  and  then  no 
one  will  marry  her. 

Of  course  I  am  young  yet,  but  still,  as  my 
mother  used  to  say,  "  It's  better  to  be  sure 
than  sorry,"  and  I  think  that  I  won't  wait  any 
[141] 


UNDISTINGUISHED    AMERICANS 

longer.  Some  married  women  enjoy  life 
almost  as  much  as  the  young  girls. 

Herman  is  the  assistant  in  a  large  grocery 
store.  He  has  been  there  nine  years,  and 
knows  all  the  customers.  He  has  money 
saved,  too,  and  soon  will  go  into  business  for 
himself. 

And  then,  again,  I  like  him,  because  I  think 
he's  the  best  dancer  I  ever  saw. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

THE    LIFE    STORY    OF    AN    IRISH    COOK 

The  cook  whose  story  follows,  lived  for  many  years  in  the 
home  of  one  of  America's  best  known  literary  women,  who 
has  taken  down  her  conversation  in  this  form. 

I  DON'T  know  why  anybody  wants  to  hear 
my  history.  Nothing  ever  happened  to 
me  worth  the  tellin'  except  when  my  mother 
died.  Now  she  was  an  extraordinary  person. 
The  neighbors  all  respected  her,  an'  the  min 
ister.  "  Go  ask  Mrs.  McNabb,"  he'd  say  to 
the  women  in  the  neighborhood  here  when  they 
come  wantin'  advice. 

But  about  me — I  was  born  nigh  to  Lima- 
vaddy ;  it's  a  pretty  town  close  to  Londonderry. 
We  lived  in  a  peat  cabin,  but  it  had  a  good 
thatched  roof.  Mother  put  on  that  roof.  It 
isn't  a  woman's  work,  but  she — was  able  for  it. 

There  were  sivin  childher  of  us.     John  an' 

Matthew  they  went  to  Australia.     Mother  was 

layin'  by  for  five  year  to  get  their  passage 

money.     They  went  into  the  bush.     We  heard 

twice   from   thim   and   then   no   more.     Not 

another  word  and  that  is  forty  year  gone  now 

—on  account  of  them  not  reading  and  writing. 

Learning  isn't  cheap  in  them  old  countries  as 

it  is  here,  you  see.     I  suppose  they're  dead 

[143] 


UNDISTINGUISHED    AMERICANS 

now — John  would  be  ninety  now — and  in 
heaven.  They  were  honest  men.  My  mother 
sent  Joseph  to  Londonderry  to  larn  the  weav 
er's  trade.  My  father  he  never  was  a  steddy 
worker.  He  took  to  the  drink  early  in  life, 
My  mother  an'  me  an'  Tilly  we  worked  in  the 
field  for  Squire  Varney.  Yes,  plowin'  an' 
seedin'  and  diggin' — any  farm  work  he'd  give 
us.  We  did  men's  work,  but  we  didn't  get 
men's  pay.  No,  of  course  not.  In  winter 
we  did  lace  work  for  a  merchant  in  London 
derry.  (Ann  still  can  embroider  beautifully.) 
It  was  pleasanter  nor  diggin'  after  my  hands 
was  fit  for  it.  But  it  took  two  weeks  every 
year  to  clean  and  soften  my  hands  for  the 
needle. 

Pay  was  very  small  and  the  twins — that  was 
Maria  and  Philip — they  were  too  young  to 
work  at  all.  What  did  we  eat?  Well,  just 
potatoes.  On  Sundays,  once  a  month,  we'd 
maybe  have  a  bit  of  flitch.  When  the  pota 
toes  rotted — that  was  the  hard  times!  Oh, 
yes,  I  mind  the  famine  years.  An'  the  corn- 
meal  that  the  'Mericans  sent.  The  folks  said 
they'd  rather  starve  nor  eat  it.  We  didn't 
know  how  to  cook  it.  Here  I  eat  corn  dodgers 
and  fried  mush  fast  enough. 

Maria — she  was  one  of  the  twins — she  died 
the  famine  year  of  the  typhus  and — well,  she 
sickened  of  the  herbs  and  roots  we  eat — we 
had  no  potatoes. 

Mother  said  when  Maria  died,  "  There's  a 
[144] 


STORY    OF    AN    IRISH    COOK 

curse  on  ould  green  Ireland  and  we'll  get  out 
of  it."  So  we  worked  an'  saved  for  four 
year  an'  then  Squire  Varney  helped  a  bit  an' 
we  sent  Tilly  to  America.  She  had  always 
more  head  than  me.  She  came  to  Philadel 
phia  and  got  a  place  for  general  housework 
at  Mrs.  Bent's.  Tilly  got  but  two  dollars 
a  week,  bein'  a  greenhorn.  But  she  larned 
hand  over  hand,  and  Mrs.  Bent  kept  no  other 
help  and  laid  out  to  teach  her.  She  larned  her 
to  cook  and  bake  and  to  wash  and  do  up  shirts 
—all  American  fashion.  Then  Tilly  axed 
three  dollars  a  week.  Mother  always  said, 
"  Don't  ax  a  penny  more  than  you're  worth. 
But  know  your  own  vally  and  ax  that." 

She  had  no  expenses  and  laid  by  money 
enough  to  bring  me  out  before  the  year  was 
gone.  I  sailed  from  Londonderry.  The  ship 
was  a  sailin'  vessel,  the  "  Mary  Jane."  The 
passage  was  $12.  You  brought  your  own  eat 
ing,  your  tea  an'  meal,  an'  most  had  flitch. 
There  was  two  big  stoves  that  we  cooked  on. 
The  steerage  was  a  dirty  place  and  we  were 
eight  weeks  on  the  voyage — over  time  three 
weeks.  The  food  ran  scarce,  I  tell  you,  but 
the  captain  gave  some  to  us,  and  them  that  had 
plenty  was  kind  to  the  others.  I've  heard  bad 
stories  of  things  that  went  on  in  the  steerage 
in  them  old  times — smallpox  and  fevers  and 
starvation  and  worse.  But  I  saw  nothing  of 
them  in  my  ship.  The  folks  were  decent  and 
the  captain  was  kind. 

[145] 


UNDISTINGUISHED    AMERICANS 

When  I  got  here  Mrs.  Bent  let  Tilly  keep 
me  for  two  months  to  teach  me — me  bein'  such 
a  greenhorn.  Of  course  I  worked  for  her. 
Mr.  Bent  was  foreman  then  in  Spangler's  big 
mills.  After  two  months  I  got  a  place. 
They  were  nice  appearing  people  enough,  but 
the  second  day  I  found  out  they  were  Jews. 
I  never  had  seen  a  Jew  before,  so  I  packed  my 
bag  and  said  to  the  lady,  "  I  beg  your  pardon, 
ma'am,  but  I  can't  eat  the  bread  of  them  as 
crucified  the  Saviour."  "  But,"  she  said.  "  he 
was  a  Jew."  So  at  that  I  put  out.  I  couldn't 
hear  such  talk.  Then  I  got  a  place  for  gen 
eral  housework  with  Mrs.  Carr.  I  got  $2  till 
I  learned  to  cook  good,  and  then  $3  and  then 
$4.  I  was  in  that  house  as  cook  and  nurse 
for  twenty-two  years.  Tilly  lived  with  the 
Bents  till  she  died,  eighteen  years.  Mr.  Bent 
come  to  be  partner  in  the  mills  and  got  rich, 
and  they  moved  into  a  big  house  in  German- 
town  and  kept  a  lot  of  help  and  Tilly  was 
housekeeper.  How  did  we  keep  our  places 
so  long?  Well,  I  think  me  and  Tilly  was 
clean  in  our  work  and  we  was  decent,  and,  of 
course,  we  was  honest.  Nobody  living  can 
say  that  one  of  the  McNabbs  ever  wronged 
him  of  a  cent.  Mrs.  Carr's  interests  was  my 
interests.  I  took  better  care  of  her  things 
than  she  did  herself,  and  I  loved  the  childher 
as  if  they  was  my  own.  She  used  to  tell  me 
my  sin  was  I  was  stingy.  I  don't  know.  The 
McNabbs  are  no  wasteful  folk.  I've  worn 
[146] 


STORY   OF    AN    IRISH    COOK 

one  dress  nine  year  and  it  looked  decent  then. 
Me  and  Tilly  saved  till  we  brought  Joseph 
and  Phil  over,  and  they  went  into  Mr.  Bent's 
mills  as  weaver  and  spool  boy  and  then  they 
saved,  and  we  all  brought  out  my  mother  and 
father.  We  rented  a  little  house  in  Kensing 
ton  for  them.  There  was  a  parlor  in  it  and 
kitchen  and  two  bedrooms  and  bathroom  and 
marble  door  step,  and  a  bell.  That  was  in  '66, 
and  we  paid  nine  dollars  a  month  rent.  You'd 
pay  double  that  now.  It  took  all  our  savings 
to  furnish  it,  but  Mrs.  Bent  and  Mrs.  Carr 
gave  us  lots  of  things  to  go  in.  To  think  of 
mother  having  a  parlor  and  marble  steps 
and  a  bell!  They  came  on  the  old  steamer 
"  Indiana  "  and  got  here  at  night,  and  we  had 
supper  for  them  and  the  house  all  lighted 
up.  Well,  you  ought  to  have  seen  mother's 
old  face!  I'll  never  forget  that  night  if  I  live 
to  be  a  hundred.  After  that  mother  took  in 
boarders  and  Joseph  and  Phil  was  there.  We 
all  put  every  cent  we  earned  into  building  asso 
ciations.  So  Tilly  owned  a  house  when  she 
died  and  I  own  this  one  now.  Our  ladies  told 
us  how  to  put  the  money  so  as  to  breed  more, 
and  we  never  spent  a  cent  we  could  save. 
Joseph  pushed  on  and  got  big  wages  and 
started  a  flour  store,  and  Phil  went  to  night- 
school  and  got  a  place  as  clerk.  He  married 
a  teacher  in  the  Kensington  public  school.  She 
was  a  showy  miss !  Silk  dress  and  feathers  in 
her  hat! 

[147] 


UNDISTINGUISHED    AMERICANS 

Father  died  soon  after  he  come.  The  drink 
here  wasn't  as  wholesome  for  him  as  it  was  in 
Ireland.  Poor  father!  He  was  a  good- 
hearted  man,  but  he  wasn't  worth  a  penny 
when  he  died. 

Mother  lived  to  be  eighty.  She  was  re 
spected  by  all  Kensington.  The  night  she 
died  she  said:  "  I  have  much  to  praise  God  for. 
I  haven't  a  child  that  is  dependent  on  the  day's 
work  for  the  day's  victuals.  Every  one  of 
them  owns  a  roof  to  cover  him." 

Joseph  did  well  in  his  flour  store.  He  has 
a  big  one  on  Market  Street  now  and  lives  in  a 
pretty  house  out  in  West  Philadelphia.  He's 
one  of  the  wardens  in  his  church  out  there  and 
his  girls  gives  teas  and  goes  to  reading  clubs. 

But  Phil  is  the  one  to  go  ahead!  His 
daughter  Ann — she  was  named  for  me,  but 
she  calls  herself  Antoinette — is  engaged  to  a 
young  lawyer  in  New  York.  He  gave  her  a 
diamond  engagement  ring  the  other  day. 
And  his  son,  young  Phil,  is  in  politics  and  a 
member  of  councils.  He  makes  money  hand 
over  hand.  He  has  an  automobile  and  a  fur 
coat,  and  you  see  his  name  at  big  dinners  and 
him  making  speeches.  No  saving  of  pennies 
or  building  associations  for  Phil. 

It  was  Phil  that  coaxed  me  to  give  up  work 
at  Mrs.  Carr's  and  to  open  my  house  for 
boarders  here  in  Kensington.  His  wife  didn't 
like  to  hear  it  said  I  was  working  in  some 
body's  kitchen.  I've  done  well  with  the 
[148] 


STORY    OF    AN    IRISH    COOK 

boarders.  I  know  just  how  to  feed  them  so 
as  to  lay  by  a  little  sum  every  year.  I  heard 
that  young  Phil  told  some  of  his  friends  that 
he  had  a  queer  old  aunt  up  in  Kensington  who 
played  poor,  but  had  a  great  store  of  money 
hoarded  away.  He  shouldn't  have  told  a 
story  like  that.  But  young  folks  will  be 
young!  I  like  the  boy.  He  is  certainly 
bringing  the  family  into  notice  in  the  world. 
Last  Sunday's  paper  had  his  picture  and  one 
of  the  young  lady  he  is  going  to  marry  in  New 
York.  It  called  him  the  young  millionaire 
McNabb.  But  I  judge  he's  not  that.  He 
wanted  to  borrow  the  money  I  have  laid  by  in 
the  old  bank  at  Walnut  and  Seventh  the  other 
day  and  said  he'd  double  it  in  a  week.  No 
such  work  as  that  for  me!  But  the  boy  cer 
tainly  is  a  credit  to  the  family! 


[149] 


CHAPTER    IX 

THE    LIFE    STORY    OF   A   FARMER'S    WIFE 

This  story  of  an  Illinois  farmer's  wife  is  printed  exactly  as 
she  penned  it. 

I  HAVE  been  a  farmer's  wife  in  one  of 
the  States  of  the  Middle  West  for  thir 
teen  years,  and  everybody  knows  that  the 
farmer's  wife  must  of  a  necessity  be  a  very 
practical  woman,  if  she  would  be  a  successful 
one. 

I  am  not  a  practical  woman  and  conse 
quently  have  been  accounted  a  failure  by  prac 
tical  friends  and  especially  by  my  husband, 
who  is  wholly  practical. 

We  are  told  that  the  mating  of  people  of 
opposite  natures  promotes  intellectuality  in 
the  offspring;  but  I  think  that  happy  homes 
are  of  more  consequence  than  extreme  pre 
cocity  of  children.  However,  I  believe  that 
people  who  are  thinking  of  mating  do  not 
even  consider  whether  it  is  to  be  the  one  or  the 
other. 

We  do  know  that  when  people  of  opposite 
tastes  get  married  there's  a  discordant  note 
runs  through  their  entire  married  life.  It's 
[150] 


STORY    OF    A    FARMER'S    WIFE 

only  a  question  of  which  one  has  the  stronger 
will  in  determining  which  tastes  shall  predom 
inate. 

In  our  case  my  husband  has  the  stronger 
will;  he  is  innocent  of  book  learning,  is  a  nat 
ural  hustler  who  believes  that  the  only  way  to 
make  an  honest  living  lies  in  digging  it  out  of 
the  ground,  so  to  speak,  and  being  a  farmer, 
he  finds  plenty  of  digging  to  do;  he  has  an 
inherited  tendency  to  be  miserly,  loves  money 
for  its  own  sake  rather  than  for  its  purchasing- 
power,  and  when  he  has  it  in  his  possession  he 
is  loath  to  part  with  it,  even  for  the  most  nec 
essary  articles,  and  prefers  to  eschew  hired 
help  in  every  possible  instance  that  what  he 
does  make  may  be  his  very  own. 

No  man  can  run  a  farm  without  some  one  to 
help  him,  and  in  this  case  I  have  always  been 
called  upon  and  expected  to  help  do  anything 
that  a  man  would  be  expected  to  do;  I  began 
this  when  we  were  first  married,  when  there 
were  few  household  duties  and  no  reasonable 
excuse  for  refusing  to  help. 

I  was  reared  on  a  farm,  was  healthy  and 
strong,  was  ambitious,  and  the  work  was  not 
disagreeable,  and  having  no  children  for  the 
first  six  years  of  married  life,  the  habit  of 
going  whenever  asked  to  became  firmly  fixed, 
and  he  had  no  thought  of  hiring  a  man  to 
help  him,  since  I  could  do  anything  for  which 
he  needed  help. 

I  was  always  religiously  inclined;  brought 
[151] 


UNDISTINGUISHED    AMERICANS 

up  to  attend  Sunday  school,  not  in  a  haphaz 
ard  way,  but  to  attend  every  Sunday  all  the 
year  round,  and  when  I  was  twelve  years  old 
I  was  appointed  teacher  to  a  Sunday  school 
class,  a  position  I  proudly  held  until  I  married 
at  eighteen  years  of  age. 

I  was  an  apt  student  at  school  and  before  I 
was  eighteen  I  had  earned  a  teacher's  certifi 
cate  of  the  second  grade  and  would  gladly  have 
remained  in  school  a  few  more  years,  but  I 
had,  unwittingly,  agreed  to  marry  the  man  who 
is  now  my  husband,  and  though  I  begged  to 
be  released,  his  will  was  so  much  stronger  that 
I  was  unable  to  free  myself  without  wound 
ing  a  loving  heart,  and  could  hot  find  it  in  my 
nature  to  do  so. 

All  through  life  I  have  found  my  dislike 
for  giving  offense  to  be  my  undoing.  When 
we  were  married  and  moved  away  from  my 
home  church,  I  fain  would  have  adopted  the 
church  of  my  new  residence,  but  my  husband 
did  not  like  to  go  to  church;  had  rather  go  vis 
iting  on  Sundays,  and 'rather  than  have  my 
right  hand  give  offense,  I  cut  it  off. 

I  always  had  a  passion  for  reading;  during 
girlhood  it  was  along  educational  lines;  in 
young  womanhood  it  was  for  love  stories, 
which  remained  ungratified  because  my  father 
thought  it  sinful  to  read  stories  of  any  kind, 
and  especially  love  stories. 

Later,  when  I  was  married,  I  borrowed 
everything  I  could  find  in  the  line  of  novels 
[152] 


STORY    OF    A    FARMER'S    WIFE 

and  stories,  and  read  them  by  stealth  still,  for 
my  husband  thought  it  a  willful  waste  of  time 
to  read  anything  and  that  it  showed  a  lack  of 
love  for  him  if  I  would  rather  read  than  to 
talk  to  him  when  I  had  a  few  moments  of 
leisure,  and,  in  order  to  avoid  giving  offense 
and  still  gratify  my  desire,  I  would  only 
read  when  he  was  not  at  the  house,  thereby 
greatly  curtailing  my  already  too  limited  read  - 
ing  hours. 

In  reading  miscellaneously  I  got  glimpses 
now  and  then  of  the  great  poets  and  authors, 
which  aroused  a  great  desire  for  a  thorough 
perusal  of  them  all ;  but  up  till  the  present  time 
I  have  not  been  permitted  to  satisfy  this  desire. 
As  the  years  have  rolled  on  there  has  been  more 
work  and  less  leisure  until  is  only  by  the  great 
est  effort  that  I  may  read  current  news. 

It  is  only  during  the  last  three  years  that  I 
have  had  the  news  to  read,  for  my  husband  is 
so  very  penurious  that  he  would  never  consent 
to  subscribing  for  papers  of  any  kind  and  that 
old  habit  of  avoiding  that  which  would  give 
offense  was  so  fixed  that  I  did  not  dare  to 
break  it. 

The  addition  of  two  children  to  our  family 
never  altered  or  interfered  with  the  established 
order  of  things  to  any  appreciable  extent. 
My  strenuous  outdoor  life  agreed  with  me,  and 
even  when  my  children  were  born,  I  was 
splendidly  prepared  for  the  ordeal  and  made 
rapid  recovery.  I  still  hoed  and  tended  the 
[153] 


UNDISTINGUISHED    AMERICANS 

truck  patches  and  garden,  still  watered  the 
stock  and  put  out  feed  for  them,  still  went  to 
the  hay  field  and  helped  harvest  and  house  the 
bounteous  crops ;  still  helped  harvest  the  golden 
grain  later  on  when  the  cereals  ripened;  often 
took  one  team  and  dragged  ground  to  prepare 
the  seed-bed  for  wheat  for  weeks  at  the  time, 
while  my  husband  was  using  the  other  team  on 
another  farm  which  he  owns  several  miles 
away. 

W  hile  the  children  were  babies  they  were  left 
at  the  house,  and  when  they  were  larger  they 
would  go  with  me  to  my  work;  now  they  are 
large  enough  to  help  a  little  during  the  sum 
mer  and  to  go  to  school  in  winter;  they  help  a 
great  deal  during  the  fruit  canning  season- 
in  fact,  can  and  do  work  at  almost  everything, 
pretty  much  as  I  do. 

All  the  season,  from  the  coming  in  of  the 
first  fruits  until  the  making  of  mince-meat  at 
Christmas  time,  I  put  up  canned  goods  for 
future  use;  gather  in  many  bushels  of  field 
beans  and  the  other  crops  usually  raised  on 
the  farm;  make  sour-kraut,  ketchup,  pickles, 
etc. 

This  is  a  vague,  general  idea  of  how  I  spend 
my  time ;  my  work  is  so  varied  that  it  would  be 
difficult,  indeed,  to  describe  a  typical  day's 
work. 

Any  bright  morning  in  the  latter  part  of 
May  I  am  out  of  bed  at  four  o'clock;  next, 
after  I  have  dressed  and  combed  my  hair,  I 
[154] 


STORY    OF    A    FARMER'S    WIFE 

start  a  fire  in  the  kitchen  stove,  and  while  the 
stove  is  getting  hot  I  go  to  my  flower  garden 
and  gather  a  choice,  half -blown  rose  and  a 
spray  of  bride's  wreath,  and  arrange  them  in 
my  hair,  and  sweep  the  floors  and  then  cook 
breakfast. 

While  the  other  members  of  the  family  are 
eating  breakfast  I  strain  away  the  morning's 
milk  (for  my  husband  milks  the  cows  while  I 
get  breakfast),  and  fill  my  husband's  dinner- 
pail,  for  he  will  go  to  work  on  our  other  farm 
for  the  day. 

By  this  time  it  is  half -past  five  o'clock,  my 
husband  is  gone  to  his  work,  and  the  stock 
loudly  pleading  to  be  turned  into  the  pas 
tures.  The  younger  cattle,  a  half-dozen 
steers,  are  left  in  the  pasture  at  night,  and  I 
now  drive  the  two  cows,  a  half-quarter  mile 
and  turn  them  in  with  the  others,  come  back, 
and  then  there's  a  horse  in  the  barn  that  be 
longs  in  a  field  where  there  is  no  water,  which 
I  take  to  a  spring  quite  a  distance  from  the 
barn;  bring  it  back  and  turn  it  into  a  field 
with  the  sheep,  a  dozen  in  number,  which  are 
housed  at  night. 

The  young  calves  are  then  turned  out  into 
the  warm  sunshine,  and  the  stock  hogs,  wThich 
are  kept  in  a  pen,  are  clamoring  for  feed,  and 
I  carry  a  pailful  of  swill  to  them,  and  hasten 
to  the  house  and  turn  out  the  chickens  and  put 
out  feed  and  water  for  them,  and  it  is,  per 
haps,  6.30  A.  M. 

[155] 


UNDISTINGUISHED    AMERICANS 

I  have  not  eaten  breakfast  yet,  but  that  can 
wait;  I  make  the  beds  next  and  straighten 
things  up  in  the  living  room,  for  I  dislike  to 
have  the  early  morning  caller  find  my  house 
topsy-turvy.  When  this  is  done  I  go  to  the 
kitchen,  which  also  serves  as  a  dining-room, 
and  uncover  the  table,  and  take  a  mouthful  of 
food  occasionally  as  I  pass  to  and  fro  at  my 
work  until  my  appetite  is  appeased. 

By  the  time  the  work  is  done  in  the  kitchen 
it  is  about  7.15  A.  M.,  and  the  cool  morning 
hours  have  flown,  and  no  hoeing  done  in  the 
garden  yet,  and  the  children's  toilet  has  to  be 
attended  to  and  churning  has  to  be  done. 

Finally  the  children  are  washed  and  churn 
ing  done,  and  it  is  eight  o'clock,  and  the  sun 
getting  hot,  but  no  matter,  weeds  die  quickly 
when  cut  down  in  the  heat  of  the  day,  and  I 
use  the  hoe  to  a  good  advantage  until  the  din 
ner  hour,  which  is  11.30  A.  M.  We  come  in, 
and  I  comb  my  hair,  and  put  fresh  flowers  in 
it,  and  eat  a  cold  dinner,  put  out  feed  and 
water  for  the  chickens;  set  a  hen,  perhaps, 
sweep  the  floors  again;  sit  down  and  rest,  and 
read  a  few  moments,  and  it  is  nearly  one 
o'clock,  and  I  sweep  the  door  yard  while  I  am 
waiting  for  the  clock  to  strike  the  hour. 

I  make  and  sow  a  flower  bed,  dig  around 
some  shrubbery,  and  go  back  to  the  garden  to 
hoe  until  time  to  do  the  chores  at  night,  but 
ere  long  some  hogs  come  up  to  the  back  gate, 
through  the  wheat  field,  and  when  I  go  to  see 
[156] 


STORY    OF    A    FARMER'S    WIFE 

what  is  wrong  I  find  that  the  cows  have  torn 
the  fence  down,  and  they,  too,  are  in  the  wheat 
field. 

With  much  difficulty  I  get  them  back  into 
their  own  domain  and  repair  the  fence.  I  hoe 
in  the  garden  till  four  o'clock;  then  I  go  into 
the  house  and  get  supper,  and  prepare  some 
thing  for  the  dinner  pail  to-morrow;  when 
supper  is  all  ready  it  is  set  aside,  and  I  pull 
a  few  hundred  plants  of  tomato,  sweet  potato 
or  cabbage  for  transplanting,  set  them  in  a 
cool,  moist  place  where  they  will  not  wilt,  and 
I  then  go  after  the  horse,  water  him,  and  put 
him  in  the  barn ;  call  the  sheep  and  house  them, 
and  go  after  the  cows  and  milk  them,  feed  the 
hogs,  put  down  hay  for  three  horses,  and  put 
oats  and  corn  in  their  troughs,  and  set  those 
plants  and  come  in  and  fasten  up  the  chickens, 
and  it  is  dark.  By  this  time  it  is  8  o'clock 
p.  M.  ;  my  husband  has  come  home,  and  we  are 
eating  supper;  when  we  are  through  eating  I 
make  the  beds  ready,  and  the  children  and 
their  father  go  to  bed,  and  I  wash  the  dishes 
and  get  things  in  shape  to  get  breakfast 
quickly  next  morning. 

It  is  now  about  9  o'clock  p.  MV  and  after  a 
short  prayer  I  retire  for  the  night. 

As  a  matter  of  course,  there's  hardly  two 
days  together  which  require  the  same  routine, 
yet  every  day  is  as  fully  occupied  in  some  way 
or  other  as  this  one,  with  varying  tasks  as  the 
seasons  change.  In  early  spring  we  are  plant- 
[157] 


UNDISTINGUISHED    AMERICANS 

ing  potatoes,  making  plant  beds,  planting  gar 
den,  early  corn  patches,  setting  strawberries, 
planting  corn,  melons,  cow  peas,  sugar  cane, 
beans,  popcorn,  peanuts,  etc. 

Oats  are  sown  in  March  and  April,  but  I  do 
not  help  do  that,  because  the  ground  is  too 
cold. 

Later  in  June  we  harvest  clover  hay,  in  July 
timothy  hay,  and  in  August  pea  hay. 

Winter  wheat  is  ready  to  harvest  the  latter 
part  of  June,  and  oats  the  middle  of  July. 

These  are  the  main  crops,  supplemented  by 
cabbages,  melons,  potatoes,  tomatoes,  etc. 

Fully  half  of  my  time  is  devoted  to  helping 
my  husband,  more  than  half  during  the  active 
work  season,  and  not  that  much  during  the 
winter  months ;  only  a  very  small  portion  of  my 
time  is  devoted  to  reading.  My  reading  mat 
ter  accumulates  during  the  week,  and  I  think 
I  will  stay  at  home  on  Sunday  and  read,  but  as 
we  have  many  visitors  on  Sunday  I  am  gener 
ally  disappointed. 

I  sometimes  visit  my  friends  on  Sunday 
because  they  are  so  insistent  that  I  should, 
though  I  would  prefer  spending  the  day  read 
ing  quietly  at  home.  I  have  never  had  a  vaca 
tion,  but  if  I  should  be  allowed  one  I  should 
certainly  be  pleased  to  spend  it  in  an  art  gal 
lery. 

As  winter  draws  nigh  I  make  snug  all  the 
vegetables  and  apples,  pumpkins,  and  such 
things  as  would  damage  by  being  frozen,  and 

[  158  ] 


STORY    OF    A    FARMER'S    WIFE 

gather  in  the  various  kinds  of  nuts  which  grow 
in  our  woods  to  eat  during  the  long,  cold 
winter. 

My  husband's  work  keeps  him  away  from 
home  during  the  day  all  the  winter,  except  in 
extremely  inclement  weather,  and  I  feed  and 
water  the  stock,  which  have  been  brought  in  off 
the  pastures;  milk  the  cows  and  do  all  the 
chores  which  are  to  be  done  about  a  farm  in 
winter. 

By  getting  up  early  and  hustling  around 
pretty  lively  I  do  all  this  and  countless  other 
things;  keep  house  in  a  crude,  simple  manner; 
wash,  make  and  mend  our  clothes;  make  rag 
carpets,  cultivate  and  keep  more  flowers  than 
anybody  in  the  neighborhood,  raise  some 
chickens  to  sell  and  some  to  keep,  and  even 
teach  instrumental  music  sometimes. 

I  have  always  had  an  itching  to  write,  and, 
with  all  my  multitudinous  cares,  I  have  writ 
ten,  in  a  fitful  way,  for  several  papers,  which 
do  not  pay  for  such  matter,  just  because  I  was 
pleased  to  see  my  articles  in  print. 

I  have  a  long  list  of  correspondents,  who 
write  regularly  and  often  to  me,  and,  by  hook 
and  crook,  I  keep  up  with  my  letter-writing, 
for,  next  to  reading,  I  love  to  write  and  re 
ceive  letters,  though  my  husband  says  I  will 
break  him  up  buying  so  much  writing  material ; 
when,  as  a  matter  of  course,  I  pay  for  it  out  of 
my  own  scanty  income. 

I  am  proud  of  my  children,  and  have,  from 
[159] 


UNDISTINGUISHED    AMERICANS 

the  time  they  were  young  babies,  tried  to  make 
model  children  of  them.  They  were  not 
spoiled  as  some  babies  are,  and  their  education 
was  begun  when  I  first  began  to  speak  to  them, 
with  the  idea  of  not  having  the  work  to  do  over 
later  on.  True,  they  did  not  learn  to  spell 
until  they  were  old  enough  to  start  to  school, 
because  I  did  not  have  time  to  teach  them 
that ;  but,  in  going  about  my  work,  I  told  them 
stories  of  all  kinds,  in  plain,  simple  language 
which  they  could  understand,  and  after  once 
hearing  a  story  they  could  repeat  it  in  their 
own  way,  which  did  not  differ  greatly  from 
mine,  to  any  one  who  cared  to  listen,  for  they 
were  not  timid  or  afraid  of  anybody. 

I  have  watched  them  closely,  and  never  have 
missed  an  opportunity  to  correct  their  errors 
until  their  language  is  as  correct  as  that  of  the 
average  adult,  as  far  as  their  vocabulary  goes, 
and  I  have  tried  to  make  it  as  exhaustive  as  my 
time  would  permit. 

I  must  admit  that  there  is  very  little  time 
for  the  higher  life  for  myself,  but  my  soul 
cries  out  for  it,  and  my  heart  is  not  in  my 
homely  duties;  they  are  done  in  a  mechanical 
abstracted  way,  not  worthy  of  a  woman  of  high 
ambitions;  but  my  ambitions  are  along  other 
lines. 

I  do  not  mean  to  say  that  I  have  no  ambition 
to  do  my  work  well,  and  to  be  a  model  house 
keeper,  for  I  would  scorn  to  slight  my  work  in- 
[160] 


STORY    OF    A    FARMER'S    WIFE 

tentionally;  it  is  just  this  way:  There  are  so 
many  outdoor  duties  that  the  time  left  for 
household  duties  is  so  limited  that  I  must  rush 
through  them,  with  a  view  to  getting  each 
one  done  in  the  shortest  possible  time,  in  order 
to  get  as  many  things  accomplished  as  pos 
sible,  for  there  is  never  time  to  do  half  as 
much  as  needs  to  be  done. 

All  the  time  that  I  have  been  going  about 
this  work  I  have  been  thinking  of  things  I 
have  read;  of  things  I  have  on  hand  to  read 
when  I  can  get  time,  and  of  other  things 
which  I  have  a  desire  to  read,  but  cannot  hope 
to  while  the  present  condition  exists. 

As  a  natural  consequence,  there  are,  daily, 
numerous  instances  of  absentmindedness  on 
my  part ;  many  things  left  undone  that  I  really 
could  have  done  by  leaving  off  something  else 
of  less  importance,  if  I  had  not  forgotten  the 
thing  of  the  more  importance.  My  husband 
never  fails  to  remind  me  that  it  is  caused  by 
my  reading  so  much;  that  I  would  get  along 
much  better  if  I  should  never  see  a  book  or 
paper,  while  really  I  would  be  distracted  if  all 
reading  matter  was  taken  from  me. 

I  use  an  old  fashioned  churn,  and  the  proc 
ess  of  churning  occupies  from  thirty  minutes 
to  three  hours,  according  to  the  condition  of 
the  cream,  and  I  always  read  something  while 
churning,  and  though  that  may  look  like  a  poor 
way  to  attain  self -culture,  yet  if  your  reading 
[161]' 


UNDISTINGUISHED    AMERICANS 

is  of  the  nature  to  bring  about  that  desirable 
result,  one  will  surely  be  greatly  benefited  by 
these  daily  exercises. 

But  if  one  is  just  reading  for  amusement, 
they  might  read  a  great  deal  more  than  that 
and  not  derive  any  great  benefit ;  but  my  read 
ing  has  always  been  for  the  purpose  of  becom 
ing  well  informed;  and  when  knitting  stock 
ings  for  the  family  I  always  have  a  book  or 
paper  in  reading  distance;  or,  if  I  have  a 
moment  to  rest  or  to  wait  on  something,  I  pick 
up  something  and  read  during  the  time.  I 
even  take  a  paper  with  me  to  the  fields  and  read 
while  I  stop  for  rest. 

I  often  hear  ladies  remark  that  they  do  not 
have  time  to  read.  I  happen  to  know  that 
they  have  a  great  deal  more  time  than  I  do, 
but  not  having  any  burning  desire  to  read,  the 
time  is  spent  in  some  other  way ;  often  spent  at 
a  neighbor's  house  gossiping  about  the  other 
neighbors. 

I  suppose  it  is  impossible  for  a  woman  to 
do  her  best  at  everything  which  she  would  like 
to  do,  but  I  really  would  like  to.  I  almost  cut 
sleep  out  of  my  routine  in  trying  to  keep  up 
all  the  rows  which  I  have  started  in  on;  in  the 
short  winter  days  I  just  get  the  cooking  and 
house  straightening  done  in  addition  to  looking 
after  the  stock  and  poultry,  and  make  a  gar 
ment  occasionally,  and  wash  and  iron  the 
clothes;  all  the  other  work  is  done  after  night 
by  lamp  light,  and  when  the  work  for  the  day 
[162] 


STORY    OF    A    FARMER'S    WIFE 

is  over,  or  at  least  the  most  pressing  part  of  it, 
and  the  family  are  all  asleep  and  no  one  to 
forbid  it,  I  spend  a  few  hours  writing  or 
reading. 

The  minister  who  performed  the  marriage 
ceremony  for  us  has  always  taken  a  kindly 
interest  in  our  fortunes  and,  knowing  of  my 
literary  bent,  has  urged  me  to  turn  it  to  ac 
count  ;  but  there  seemed  to  be  so  little  time  and 
opportunity  that  I  could  not  think  seriously  of 
it,  although  I  longed  for  a  literary  career ;  but 
my  education  had  been  dropped  for  a  dozen 
years  or  more,  and  I  knew  that  I  was  not  prop 
erly  equipped  for  that  kind  of  a  venture. 

This  friend  was  so  insistent  that  I  was  in 
duced  to  compete  for  a  prize  in  a  short  story 
contest  in  a  popular  magazine  not  long  since, 
though  I  entered  it  fully  prepared  for  a 
failure. 

About  that  time  there  came  in  my  way  the 
literature  of  a  correspondence  school  which 
would  teach,  among  other  things,  short  story 
writing  by  mail;  it  set  forth  all  the  advantages 
of  a  literary  career  and  proposed  properly  to 
equip  its  students  in  that  course  for  a  consid 
eration. 

This  literature  I  greedily  devoured,  and  felt 
that  I  could  not  let  the  opportunity  slip, 
though  I  despaired  of  getting  my  husband's 
consent. 

I  presented  the  remunerative  side  of  it  to 
him,  but  he  could  only  see  the  expense  of  tak- 
[163] 


UNDISTINGUISHED    AMERICANS 

ing  the  course,  and  wondered  how  I  could  find 
time  to  spend  in  the  preparation,  even  if  it 
should  be  profitable  in  the  end;  but  he  believed 
it  was  all  a  humbug;  that  they  would  get  my 
money  and  I  would  hear  from  them  no  more. 

When  I  had  exhausted  my  arguments  to  no 
avail,  I  sent  my  literary  friend  to  him,  to  try 
his  persuasive  powers.  The  two  of  us,  finally, 
gained  his  consent,  but  it  was  on  condition  that 
the  venture  was  to  be  kept  profoundly  secret, 
for  he  felt  sure  that  there  would  be  nothing 
but  failure,  and  he  desired  that  no  one  should 
know  of  it  and  have  cause  for  ridicule. 

Contrary  to  his  expectations  the  school  has 
proven  very  trustworthy,  and  I  am  in  the 
midst  of  a  course  of  instruction  which  is  very 
pleasing  to  me ;  and  I  find  time  for  study  and 
exercise  between  the  hours  of  eight  and  eleven 
at  night,  when  the  family  are  asleep  and  quiet. 
I  am  instructed  to  read  a  great  deal,  with  a 
certain  purpose  in  view,  but  that  is  impossible, 
sincel  had  to  promise  my  husband  that  I  would 
drop  all  my  papers,  periodicals,  etc.,  on  which 
I  was  paying  out  money  for  subscription  be 
fore  he  would  consent  to  my  taking  the  course. 
This  I  felt  willing  to  do,  that  I  might  prepare 
myself  for  more  congenial  tasks;  I  hope  to 
accomplish  something  worthy  of  note  in  a  lit 
erary  way  since  I  have  been  a  failure  in  all 
other  pursuits.  One  cannot  be  anything  in 
particular  as  Ion  3*  as  they  try  to  be  everything, 
and  my  motto  has  always  been:  "  Strive  to 
[164] 


STORY    OF    A    FARMER'S    WIFE 

Excel,"  and  it  has  caused  worry  wrinkles  to 
mar  my  countenance,  because  I  could  not,  un 
der  the  circumstances,  excel  in  any  particular 
thing. 

I  have  a  few  friends  who  are  so  anxious  for 
my  success  that  they  are  having  certain  publi 
cations  of  reading  matter  sent  to  me  at  their 
own  expense ;  however,  there's  only  a  very  lim 
ited  number  who  know  of  my  ambitions. 

My  friends  have  always  been  so  kind  as  not 
to  hint  that  I  had  not  come  up  to  their  expec 
tations  in  various  lines,  but  I  inwardly  knew 
that  they  regarded  me  as  a  financial  failure; 
they  knew  that  my  husband  would  not  allow 
the  money  that  was  made  off  the  farm  to  be 
spent  on  the  family,  but  still  they  knew  of 
other  men  who  did  the  same,  yet  the  wives 
managed  some  way  to  have  money  of  their 
own  and  to  keep  up  the  family  expenses  and 
clothe  themselves  and  children  nicely  anyhow, 
but  they  did  not  seem  to  take  into  account  that 
these  thrifty  wives  had  the  time  all  for  their 
own  in  which  to  earn  a  livelihood  while  my 
time  was  demanded  by  my  husband,  to  be 
spent  in  doing  things  for  him  which  would 
contribute  to  the  general  proceeds  of  the  farm, 
yet  would  add  nothing  to  my  income,  since  I 
was  supposed  to  look  to  my  own  resources  for 
my  spending  money. 

When  critical  housewives  spend  the  day  with 
me  I  always  feel  that  my  surroundings  appear 
to  a  disadvantage.  They  cannot  possibly 
[165] 


UNDISTINGUISHED    AMERICANS 

know  the  inside  workings  of  our  home,  and 
knowing  myself  to  be  capable  of  the  proper 
management  of  a  home  if  I  had  the  chance 
of  others,  I  feel  like  I  am  receiving  a  mental 
criticism  from  them  which  is  unmerited,  and 
when  these  smart  neighbors  tell  me  proudly 
how  many  young  chicks  they  have,  and  how 
many  eggs  and  old  hens  they  have  sold  during 
the  year,  I  am  made  to  feel  that  they  are  crow 
ing  over  their  shrewdness,  which  they  regard 
as  lacking  in  me,  because  they  will  persist  in 
measuring  my  opportunities  by  their  own. 

I  might  add  that  the  neighbors  among  whom 
I  live  are  illiterate  and  unmusical,  and  that  my 
redeeming  qualities,  in  their  eyes,  are  my 
superior  education  and  musical  abilities;  they 
are  kind  enough  to  give  me  more  than  justice 
on  these  qualities  because  they  are  poor  judges 
of  such  matters. 

But  money  is  king,  and  if  I  might  turn  my 
literary  bent  to  account,  and  surround  my 
self  with  the  evidences  of  prosperity,  I  may 
yet  hope  fully  to  redeem  myself  in  their  eyes, 
and  I  know  that  I  will  have  attained  my 
ambition  in  that  line. 


[166] 


CHAPTER   X 

THE    LIFE    STORY    OF    AN    ITINERANT    MINISTER 

This  is  the  story  of  a  handicapped  life.     Its  author  is  a  preacher 
in  the  Southern  Methodist  Church. 

I  WAS  born  in  a  fine  old  county  of  one  of 
the  Southern  States.  My  father  was  a 
German,  and  came  to  this  country  when  a 
young  man.  He  was  a  steady,  industrious, 
frugal  man,  and  made  many  friends  in  his 
new  home.  He  worked  on  one  of  the  first 
railroads  built  in  the  South,  serving  in  the 
capacity  of  a  "  track-raiser,"  or  section  fore 
man,  for  more  than  a  dozen  years.  He  then 
bought  a  farm  and  moved  to  it  when  I  was 
about  five  years  old,  and  it  was  on  this  farm 
that  my  childhood  was  spent.  My  mother  be 
longed  to  one  of  the  oldest  families  of  the 
county,  and  was  a  woman  of  good  sense  and  de 
cided  character.  There  were  eight  children  of 
us,  three  sons  and  five  daughters.  My  mother 
had  two  brothers  who  were  afflicted  with  cat 
aract.  And  this  same  infirmity  showed  it 
self  in  our  family  in  one  of  those  strange 
freaks  of  heredity.  My  oldest  brother  devel 
oped  cataract  on  his  eyes  several  years  after 
[167] 


UNDISTINGUISHED    AMERICANS 

birth,  while  in  my  younger  brother  and  myself 
it  was  congenital.  And  my  case  was  the 
worst  of  the  three,  and  worse  than  either  of 
my  maternal  uncles.  One  of  my  earliest  and 
most  vivid  recollections  is  the  first  of  four  op 
erations  on  my  eyes  for  this  trouble.  It  was 
before  I  was  five  years  old — and  long  before 
the  days  of  local  anesthesias.  I  was  placed 
full  length  on  a  bench,  tied  hand  and  foot, 
my  head  was  grasped  firmly,  and  my  eyes, 
first  one  and  then  the  other,  were  held  open, 
while  the  doctor  inserted  a  sharp  needle,  and 
attempted  to  cut  up  the  cataract,  hoping  that 
the  particles  would  be  taken  up  by  absorption. 
It  was  only  after  the  third  of  these  operations 
that  I  experienced  any  great  benefit.  I  was 
then  thirteen  years  old,  and  large  enough  to 
submit  quietly  to  the  operation.  I  remember 
it  all  so  well.  It  was  a  day  in  May.  I  sat 
down  before  a  window,  and  the  doctor  inserted 
his  needle  in  the  right  eye.  A  moment  later 
he  had  pressed  the  cataract  from  over  the 
sight.  And  then,  as  if  a  dense  fog  had  sud 
denly  rolled  away,  there  burst  upon  my  view 
such  a  vision  of  field  and  sky  and  sunlight  as 
I  had  never  looked  upon  before.  I  forgot  the 
pain  of  the  operation,  and  broke  out  into  rap 
turous  exclamations  of  delight.  That  was 
over  forty  years  ago,  but  that  day  in  May  and 
that  afternoon  hour  marked  an  epoch  in  my 
life.  Afterwards  I  could  see  to  read  ordinary 
print. 

[168] 


STORY    OF    AN    ITINERANT    MINISTER 

But  the  sight  these  successive  operations  left 
with  me  was  far  from  perfect  vision.     The 
reading  I  was  enabled  to  do,  and  that  which  I 
have  done  all  my  life,  was  with  the  right  eye — 
there  is  still  some  cataract  on  the  left  eye— 
and  by  the  aid  of  the  strongest  glasses  that 
could  be  had.     These  glasses  were  double  con 
vex,  and  looked  like  the  lenses  of  a  microscope. 

I  entered  school  at  thirteen.  The  teachers 
were  very  kind  to  me,  and  took  much  interest 
in  putting  me  forward  in  my  studies.  These 
were  war  times  in  the  South,  and  spectacles, 
like  many  other  things,  wrere  not  easily  ob 
tained,  so  my  younger  brother  and  myself 
were  forced  to  use  the  same  pair  of  glasses  in 
school.  But  I  learned  many  of  my  lessons 
through  the  eye  of  others,  especially  two  girl 
cousins  of  mine,  and  got  on  pretty  well.  By 
the  end  of  the  first  year  I  could  read  readily, 
and  had  taken  some  lessons  in  geography  and 
history,  as  well  as  arithmetic. 

I  attended  school  a  part  of  every  year  after 
this  until  I  was  twenty-one  years  old,  during 
which  period  I  read  some,  or  all,  of  the  works 
of  Hume,  Sir  Walter  Scott,  Charles  Dickens, 
Washington  Irving,  and  many  books  by 
authors  of  less  note  and  ability,  and  acquired 
a  fair  knowledge  of  Latin,  a  little  knowl 
edge  of  Greek,  went  into  geometry  in 
mathematics,  and  gained  a  pretty  thorough 
acquaintance  with  the  English  branches.  It 
was  my  hope  that  when  I  should  be  ready  to 
[169] 


UNDISTINGUISHED    AMERICANS 

go,  I  could  enter  the  old  college,  whose  bell 
we  could  almost  hear  from  our  home.  But 
my  father  died  very  suddenly  in  June,  when  I 
was  in  my  twentieth  year,  and  while  he  left  an 
estate  of  several  thousand  dollars,  our  affairs 
were  not  well  managed,  and  I  did  not  have  the 
opportunity  of  completing  my  education  in 
this  way. 

When  I  reached  twenty-one  I  was  con 
fronted  by  a  serious  question:  What  should 
my  life  work  be?  Farm  work  was  out  of  the 
question,  the  printer's  trade,  which  I  should 
have  preferred  to  everything  else,  was  equally 
so!  no  merchant  wanted  a  clerk  who  was  too 
blind  to  wait  on  his  customers,  and  school- 
teaching  seemed  as  impracticable  as  any  of  the 
rest.  Through  the  help  of  an  uncle,  I  got  a 
little  school,  which  was  taught  in  one  end  of  an 
abandoned  log  cabin.  This  lasted  only  a  few 
months,  and  was  the  beginning  and  end  of  my 
experience  in  the  work  of  a  teacher. 

Ours  was  a  religious  home.  Family  prayers 
was  one  of  the  institutions  of  the  home,  and 
my  part  in  this — after  I  was  ten  years  old- 
was  to  set  the  hymns,  which  my  father  lined 
out  in  the  good  old  way  of  our  ancestors.  And 
I  was  a  religious  child.  I  often  prayed  that 
I  might  see  well,  and  it  would  have  been  no 
surprise  to  my  childish  faith  if  the  Heavenly 
Father  had  taken  me  at  my  word,  and  allowed 
me  to  open  my  eyes  on  the  world  with  the  sight 
that  others  had.  I  was  consciously  and  satis- 
[170] 


STORY    OF    AN    ITINERANT    MINISTER 

factorily  converted  when  I  was  in  my  six 
teenth  year,  and  some  time  afterwards  con 
nected  myself  with  the  Methodist  Church. 
Because  I  showed  a  religious  bent,  perhaps, 
and  possibly  because  they  could  see  nothing 
for  me  but  the  work  of  the  ministry,  my 
friends  and  family  used  to  tell  me  that  they 
thought  I  ought  to  preach.  But  what  they 
said  rather  hindered  than  helped  me.  I  be 
lieved  then,  as  I  do  now,  that  every  true 
preacher  is  called  of  God,  as  was  Aaron,  and  to 
preach  because  I  could  do  nothing  else,  seemed 
little  less  than  sacrilege.  But  after  a  hard 
and  very  honest  struggle  over  the  question,  I 
decided  to  give  my  life  to  the  ministry,  and 
was  licensed  to  preach  at  twenty-two.  A  year 
later  I  was  recommended  for  admission  on 
trial  in  the  itinerancy,  but  the  presiding  elder 
under  whom  I  was  licensed  to  preach,  told  me 
very  plainly  that  he  did  not  think  I  could  see 
well  enough  to  be  a  traveling  Methodist 
preacher.  He  was  a  brother  of  one  of  the 
bishops,  and  a  man  of  much  influence,  and 
there  seemed  no  appeal  from  his  decision. 

This  decision  quite  upset  me.  My  mother's 
affairs  were  in  such  a  condition  that  I  could 
no  longer  depend  upon  her  for  my  living. 
But  what  should — rather,  what  could — I  do? 
There  was  still  left  to  me  my  license  as  a  local 
preacher;  but  there  was  nothing  in  this  work 
in  the  way  of  an  occupation,  and  no  compensa 
tion  whatever.  And  while  I  was  willing 
[171] 


UNDISTINGUISHED    AMERICANS 

enough  to  preach  the  Gospel  "  without  money 
and  without  price,"  I  must  live  the  while.  For 
some  months  this  year  I  had  the  very  uncom 
fortable  consciousness  of  living  a  useless  life. 
In  the  spring,  however,  a  distant  kinsman, 
whom  my  father,  several  years  before,  had  set 
up  in  business,  offered  me  a  position  in  the 
railroad  station  and  post  office  in  the  village, 
two  miles  away,  saying  as  he  did  so:  "I  will 
give  you  your  board  at  first,  and  if  everything 
works  well  will  give  you  some  clothes  later." 
I  accepted  the  place  at  once,  and  went  to  work 
in  five  minutes  after  the  offer  was  made.  I 
worked  here  nearly  six  months  before  I  re 
ceived  more  than  my  board.  I  remained  here 
three  years  and  a  half,  the  highest  salary  I  re 
ceived  at  any  time  being  only  twelve  dollars  a 
month,  out  of  which  I  paid  seven  dollars  a 
month  board.  My  duties  were  miscellaneous. 
I  helped  to  load  and  unload  freight,  handled 
many  a  bale  of  cotton  during  the  season  from 
September  till  April,  lifted  numberless  bags 
of  highly  scented  commercial  fertilizers, 
looked  after  the  post  office,  and  did  just  any 
thing  my  employer  could  find  for  me  to  do. 
I  had  much  leisure  in  the  summer,  which,  with 
odd  times  at  other  seasons,  I  spent  in  reading 
and  writing.  I  went  over  the  Bible  every 
year,  took  up  the  course  of  study  for  young 
preachers,  and  did  what  preaching  I  could, 
often  walking  five  or  six  miles  to  an  appoint 
ment.  All  the  time  I  was  longing  and  hoping 
[172] 


STORY    OF    AN    ITINERANT    MINISTER 

against  hope  that  one  day  I  might  be  admitted 
to  the  Conference,  and  give  my  whole  time  to 
the  ministry.  At  last  this  longed-for  oppor 
tunity  came.  Some  of  my  friends  took  it  into 
their  heads  that  I  could  see  sufficiently  well  to 
do  the  work  of  an  itinerant  preacher,  used 
their  influence  with  the  presiding  elder,  the 
same  one  who  had  kept  me  waiting  over  three 
years,  and  just  as  I  was  nearing  my  twenty- 
seventh  birthday  I  found  myself  enrolled  as  a 
member  of  one  of  the  Conferences  of  my 
Church — and  about  the  happiest  man  in  it. 

My  experiences  at  the  first  annual  Con 
ference  I  ever  attended  were  of  the  superla 
tive  degree.  I  alternated  between  hope  and 
fear  at  first  as  to  whether  I  should  be  received, 
and  after  this  suspense  was  over,  I  wondered 
with  fear  and  trembling  what  my  appointment 
would  be.  And  when,  on  the  last  day  of  the 
session — appointments  are  always  read  out 
just  before  the  Conference  adjourns  sine  die— 
I  sat  with  two  hundred  men,  who,  like  myself, 
were  waiting  for  the  Bishop  to  announce  our 
fields  of  labor  for  another  year,  I  think  I  must 
have  had  some  of  the  feelings  of  a  soldier 
just  on  the  eve  of  battle.  The  Bishop  read 
slowly,  allowing  the  secretary  to  copy  his  an 
nouncements — first  the  name  of  the  charge  and 
then  the  name  of  the  preacher.  I  was  sitting 
with  a  neighbor-boy  who,  like  myself,  had  just 
been  accepted  by  the  Conference.  The  Bishop 
came  to  his  name  first,  giving  him  a  place  as 
[173] 


UNDISTINGUISHED    AMERICANS 

junior  preacher  on  the  hardest  work,  perhaps, 
in  the  whole  territory  embraced  in  the  Confer 
ence.  And  then,  after  some  time,  which 
really  seemed  very  long,  he  came  to  me. 
— ,"  he  read,  and  then,  after  the  sec 
retary  had  written  the  name,  he  read  out  my 
name.  And  I  was  delighted.  The  town  was 
only  twenty-five  miles  from  my  home,  the  cir 
cuit  seemed  very  desirable  for  many  reasons, 
and  I  really  felt  flattered  by  the  appointment. 
But  my  rejoicing  was  not  for  long.  I  discov 
ered  in  a  little  while  that  the  course  of  the 
itinerant  is  like  the  course  of  true  love,  in  that 
it  doesn't  always  run  smoothly. 

I  left  home  about  the  1st  of  January  with 
a  small  trunk  that  held  a  few  clothes  and  a 
small  number  of  books,  and  about  three  dollars 
in  money,  which  some  of  my  friends  were 
kind  enough  to  give  me.  The  welcome  I  re 
ceived  was  about  as  cold  as  the  day's  ride  in  an 
open  buggy  had  been.  Things  were  in  con 
fusion.  The  town  church  had  been  cut  off 
from  a  strong  circuit,  and  associated  with  it 
were  three  weak  churches.  The  people  of  the 
town  church  had  held  a  meeting  and  passed 
resolutions  to  the  effect  that,  "  if  they  wrere  not 
restored  to  their  original  circuit,  they  would 
withdraw  from  the  connection."  There  was 
nothing  for  me  to  do  but  to  wait  until  the 
proper  authorities  decided  the  question  at 
issue,  and  to  go  on  with  my  work  with  as  little 
friction  as  might  be.  On  Saturday  before  the 
[174] 


STORY    OF    AN    ITINERANT    MINISTER 

first  Sunday  I  walked  four  miles  through  the 
snow,  facing  a  bitter  northwest  wind,  to  one 
of  the  country  churches,  and  found  two  breth 
ren  awaiting  me.  To  these  I  talked  on  some 
verses  of  the  Thirty-fourth  Psalm.  The  next 
day  more  came,  and  I  preached  on  Philip- 
pians  3:  13,  14.  That  first  week  I  visited  and 
prayed  with  fifteen  families,  walking  five  and 
six  miles  a  day  through  the  mud  and  melting 
snow. 

I  remained  on  this  circuit  about  three  weeks, 
when  I  was  ordered  by  my  presiding  elder  to 
go  to  the  -  -  mission.  Here  I  had  some 

new  towns  on  a  new  line  of  railroad,  with  two 
country  churches,  to  which  I  walked  over  roads 
that  were  little  better  than  bridle  paths.  The 
country  was  hilly  and  much  broken ;  the  people 
outside  of  the  towns  lived  in  very  plain  houses, 
often  with  only  one  room;  my  fare  for  days  to 
gether,  when  away  from  home,  was  only  coarse 
corn  bread,  fat  bacon,  and  coffee  without 
cream  or  sugar — and  not  a  church  on  the  work 
had  a  stove,  or  was  ceiled.  One  of  them  was 
even  without  a  door  shutter.  But  the  people 
were  kind,  open-hearted  folk,  my  boarding 
place  was  very  agreeable  and  I  was  quite  con 
tented.  I  remained  there  two  years,  receiving 
an  average  salary  of  about  $165  a  year.  I  paid 
my  landlady  ten  dollars  a  month,  from  which 
she  deducted  the  time  that  I  was  away  from 
home.  I  bought  as  many  books  as  my  salary 
would  warrant,  but  it  was  years  after  this  be- 
[175] 


UNDISTINGUISHED    AMERICANS 

fore  I  had  a  full  set  of  commentaries  on  the 
Bible,  or  anything  in  the  way  of  an  encyclo 
pedia.  This  lack  forced  me  to  be  my  own  com 
mentator,  which  I  have  continued  to  be  most  of 
my  life  since.  I  have  found  that  it  is  better  to 
read  the  Bible  than  to  read  about  it. 

The  next  year  I  had  a  circuit  with  two  towns 
and  four  country  churches,  and  which  paid  me 
less  than  $150.  The  fourth  year,  however,  I 
got  on  better.  I  had  a  charge  that  embraced 
six  churches,  all  in  a  rough  country,  and 
twenty-five  miles  from  one  extreme  to  another. 
I  rode  this  circuit  on  a  mule,  which,  together 
with  board,  washing  and  the  kindest  attention, 
was  furnished  me  by  Brother  H—  — ,  for  eight 
dollars  a  month.  My  home  was  in  the  coun 
try,  three  miles  from  the  post  office,  and  I  did 
the  most  satisfactory  year's  reading  of  my 
whole  life.  Brother  H's  wife  was  the  hardest 
worked  woman  I  have  ever  known,  I  think. 
She  cooked,  did  her  washing  and  house-clean 
ing,  milked  a  cow  or  two,  looked  after  three 
small  children,  and  found  time  to  help  her 
husband  in  the  field.  I  received  about  $300 
this  year,  and  saved  enough  out  of  it  to  buy  a 
beautiful  pony  the  next  year. 

I  spent  the  next  three  years  in  the  county 
of  -  — .  Here  I  had  much  success  in  my 
work.  A  great  revival  swept  over  the  county, 
in  which  others  were  more  useful  than  myself, 
and  I  received  about  175  into  the  Church. 
Five  young  men,  who  are  now  preachers,  took 
[176] 


STORY    OF    AN    ITINERANT    MINISTER 

their  start  in  religious  work  during  these  years, 
and  I  call  them  "  my  boys." 

After  being  in  the  itinerancy  nine  years,  I 
decided  to  marry.  I  had  received  an  average 
salary  of  $200  a  year,  but  I  was  assured  by  my 
presiding  elder  that  if  I  would  marry,  better 
provision  would  be  made  for  me.  I  found  a 
sensible,  religious  country  girl,  who,  after 
some  persuasion,  consented  to  share  my  itiner 
ant  lot,  and  so,  just  before  Conference  met, 
we  were  married,  and  went  to  the  session  a 
very  happy  bridal  couple.  And  we  got  a 
good  appointment. 

Our  first  parsonage  was  a  three-room  cot 
tage,  unpainted,  with  only  one  room  ceiled, 
and  a  little  veranda,  on  which  morning  glories 
were  trained  to  grow  in  great  luxuriance  that 
summer.  We  remained  here  two  years,  dur 
ing  which  the  church  prospered  greatly. 
About  a  hundred  members  were  taken  in,  and 
the  finances  of  the  charge  improved  consider 
ably  ;  and  our  salary  of  some  $450  a  year  gave 
us  a  comfortable  support.  Our  first  child 
was  born  this  year,  a  boy,  who  is  nearly  eigh 
teen  now. 

The  most  trying  period  of  my  life  came  some 
years  later.  We  spent  some  time  in  a  malarial 
section  of  the  State,  and  my  nervous  system 
was  so  much  affected  by  this  poison  that  I  was 
unable  to  preach  for  several  months.  And  be 
fore  I  had  fully  recovered  from  this  attack 
the  mother  of  my  children  sickened  and  died 
[177] 


UNDISTINGUISHED    AMERICANS 

of  rapid  consumption.  She  left  me  with  three 
children,  six,  nine  and  twelve  years  of  age 
respectively,  with  no  settled  home,  and  health 
much  broken.  But  I  was  among  my  kindred 
at  the  time,  my  old  mother  came  to  my  house, 
and  after  a  year  and  a  half,  I  found  another 
good  woman  as  my  wrife,  and  the  mother  of 
my  children. 

I  have  now  been  an  itinerant  Methodist 
preacher  almost  twenty-eight  years.  My  sal 
ary,  since  I  was  married,  has  averaged  $380  a 
year,  exclusive  of  house  rent.  I  have  only 
once  or  twice  left  a  circuit  in  debt  to  any  one 
in  it,  and  am  to-day  free  from  financial  em 
barrassment.  I  am  now  serving  my  twentieth 
pastoral  charge,  and  these  frequent  changes 
from  one  pastorate  to  another,  which  have  in 
one  or  two  instances  involved  moves  of  two 
hundred  miles  or  more,  have  greatly  added  to 
the  expenses  of  the  work.  I  have  paid  out 
three  or  four  hundred  dollars  in  railroad  and 
hack  fares,  and  in  freight  charges,  besides  the 
loss  incident  to  breaking  up  and  moving  from 
one  place  to  another.  I  have  kept  a  horse 
fifteen  years,  and  a  buggy  about  a  dozen,  have 
had  one  horse  to  die  and  another  to  go  blind, 
and  the  buggy  I  now  have  is  almost  like  the 
wonderful  one-horse  chaise,  just  before  that 
classic  vehicle  wrent  to  pieces.  My  sight  is  suf 
ficient  to  enable  me  to  drive  over  plain  and 
familiar  roads. 

We  find  it  necessary  to  be  economical.  Our 
[178] 


STORY    OF    AN    ITINERANT    MINISTER 

living  is  simple.  In  the  morning  we  have  bis 
cuit  and  butter  and  bacon  gravy,  with  a  little 
ham  now  and  then,  and  chicken  in  the  sum 
mer,  and  fresh  pork — when  our  neighbors  fur 
nish  it — in  winter.  We  also  have  coffee  for 
my  wife  and  myself,  and  "  kettle  tea  "  for  the 
children.  At  dinner,  we  have  vegetables,  such 
as  beans,  potatoes  and  corn,  during  the  sum 
mer,  with  good  bread,  home-made,  and  some 
times  a  simple  dessert.  At  supper,  which  we 
generally  have  about  night-fall,  we  have 
bread  and  butter,  with  fruit,  when  we  can  get 
it,  and  milk  or  tea.  We  have  occupied  nine 
different  parsonages,  and  attached  to  these 
have  generally  been  lots  large  enough  for  a 
good  garden  and  sundry  patches.  On  our 
present  lot  we  hope  to  make  a  light  bale  of 
cotton  this  year.  I  usually  buy  one  good  suit 
of  clothes  every  two  or  three  years,  which  I 
save  for  marriages,  funerals  and  strictly  Sun 
day  wear,  making  less  costly  clothes  answer 
for  everyday  wear.  These  best  suits  usually 
cost  about  fifteen  dollars,  and  I  get  them 
ready-made  out  of  the  stores.  My  wife  usu 
ally  makes  her  own  dresses,  and  does  most  of 
the  sewing  for  the  family.  We  keep  no  ser 
vants,  but  put  out  the  washing  and  ironing, 
which  costs  -about  fifty  cents  a  week.  We  gen 
erally  rise  about  six,  have  breakfast  an  hour 
later,  the  little  girls  go  to  school,  after  wash 
ing  the  dishes — my  son  has  been  away  from 
home  most  of  the  time  for  a  year,  attend- 
[179] 


UNDISTINGUISHED    AMERICANS 

ing  school — and  my  wife  and  I  put  things  to 
rights  in  our  room,  and  then  sit  down  for  a 
quiet  morning's  work.  I  find  the  hours  be 
fore  twelve  o'clock  in  the  day  much  the  best 
time  in  the  whole  twenty-four  for  study.  I 
find  it  hard  to  be  regular  in  my  habits  of  study. 
A  trip  of  six  to  twelve  miles  in  the  country 
must  be  made  every  other  week  to  preach  at 
the  churches  away  from  my  home,  and  the  de 
mand  for  visiting  is  a  constant  draft  on  my 
time.  My  preaching  has  been  plain,  and  ex 
temporaneous,  after  careful  general  prepara 
tion.  I  have  tried  to  take  the  great  themes  of 
the  Bible  and  present  them  in  such  ways  and 
words  as  would  bring  them  within  the  com 
prehension  of  the  common  people.  I  have 
had  pastoral  connection  with  about  one  hun 
dred  different  congregations,  in  twenty-four 
different  counties  of  my  native  State,  and  I 
am  sure  I  have  preached  to  at  least  fifty  thou 
sand  different  people.  I  have  received  about 
one  thousand  members  into  the  Church,  and 
have  seen  a  number  of  gracious  revivals.  I 
have  reason  to  know  that  I  have  done  some 
good  and  reason  to  believe  that  I  have  done 
some  of  which  I  have  had  no  knowledge.  A 
few  years  ago,  at  a  Conference  session,  I  was 
introduced  to  a  young  preacher,  who  said, 
"  Why,  I  know  you  already.  At  -  -  camp 
ground,  some  ten  or  twelve  years  ago,  I  heard 
you  preach  on  Sunday  night.  Under  that 
sermon  I  was  convicted  and  converted,  and 
[180] 


STORY    OF    AN    ITINERANT    MINISTER 

so  were  fifteen  others."  And  this  man  had 
been  preaching  several  years,  though  I  had 
never  met  him  before. 

I  have  gathered  a  collection  of  good  books, 
but  have  not  been  able  to  buy  many  new  works 
as  they  have  come  from  the  press.  I  have  not 
yet  gotten  over  my  penchant  for  literary  work, 
and  recently  have  written  a  novel,  which  seems 
not  good  enough,  or  mayhap,  bad  enough,  to 
meet  the  demands  of  publishers.  It  deals 
with  a  living  question,  though  it  is  not  a 
"  problem  "  novel.  The  scene  is  laid  in  the 
South,  but  there  is  not  a  "  Colonel,"  nor  a 
"  Judge  "  in  it,  a  fact  which  ought  to  com 
mend  it  to  the  favor  of  intelligent  people. 

I  suppose  I  have  been  hindered  in  my  work 
by  my  defective  sight.  At  any  rate,  I  have 
been  told  a  number  of  times  that  nothing  but 
this  stood  in  the  way  of  my  promotion.  But 
it  has  not  hindered  me  from  traveling  some  of 
the  largest  and  hardest  circuits  in  my  Confer 
ence.  But  it  has  saved  me  from  the  envy  and 
jealousy  of  other  preachers,  and  that  is  some 
thing  to  be  thankful  for.  This  same  defective 
sight  has  had  its  compensations  in  many  ways. 
The  world  in  which  I  have  lived  has  had  more 
mysteries  in  it  than  the  world  of  those  who  see 
well,  and  larger  room  for  imagination,  and 
for  those  poetic  fancies  which  give  the  earth 
and  sky  and  sun  and  stars  a  beauty  that  is  not 
otherwise  their  own.  And  there  have  been 
other  compensations.  The  very  effort  neces- 
[181] 


UNDISTINGUISHED    AMERICANS 

sary  to  acquire  the  knowledge  that  I  have 
gathered  has  made  me  husband  it  all  the  more 
carefully.  I  could  not  lightly  throw  away 
that  which  cost  me  so  much. 

I  have  been  a  conservative  in  thought  and 
faith.  Two  great  facts  in  my  experience,  my 
conversion  and  my  call  to  the  ministry,  has 
served  as  mordants  to  my  faith.  I  have  be 
lieved  that  it  was  my  business  to  find  out  the 
truths,  and  not  the  errors  of  the  -Bible.  My 
observation  of  men,  and  my  reading  of  history, 
have  taught  me  that  the  men  who  have  had 
largest  influence  with  God  and  their  fellows, 
have  been  the  men  who  have  adhered  most 
steadfastly  to  the  standards  of  faith.  Upon 
the  whole,  as  Horace  Bushnell  says,  it  has  been 
a  great  thing  to  me  to  have  lived. 


[182] 


CHAPTER    XI 

THE   LIFE   STORY   OF   A   NEGRO    PEON 

The  following  chapter  was  obtained  from  an  interview  with 
a  Georgia  negro  who  is  a  victim  of  the  new  slavery  of  the  South. 

I  AM  a  negro  and  was  born  some  time  dur 
ing  the  war  in  Elbert  County,  Ga.,  and 
I  reckon  by  this  time  I  must  be  a  little  over 
forty  years  old.  My  mother  was  not  married 
when  I  was  born,  and  I  never  knew  who  my 
father  was  or  anything  about  him.  Shortly 
after  the  war  my  mother  died,  and  I  was  left 
to  the  care  of  my  uncle.  All  this  happened 
before  I  was  eight  years  old,  and  so  I  can't 
remember  very  much  about  it.  When  I  was 
about  ten  years  old  my  uncle  hired  me  out  to 
Captain  -  — .  I  had  already  learned  how 
to  plow,  and  was  also  a  good  hand  at  picking 
cotton.  I  was  told  that  the  Captain  wanted 
me  for  his  house-boy,  and  that  later  on  he  was 
going  to  train  me  to  be  his  coachman.  To 
be  a  coachman  in  those  days  was  considered  a 
post  of  honor,  and  young  as  I  was,  I  was  glad 
of  the  chance.  But  I  had  not  been  at  the 
Captain's  a  month  before  I  was  put  to  work 
on  the  farm,  with  some  twenty  or  thirty  other 
negroes — men,  women  and  children.  From 
[183] 


UNDISTINGUISHED    AMERICANS 

the  beginning  the  boys  had  the  same  tasks  as 
the  men  and  women.  There  was  no  differ 
ence.  We  all  worked  hard  during  the  week, 
and  would  frolic  on  Saturday  nights  and  often 
on  Sundays.  And  everybody  was  happy. 
The  men  got  $3  a  week  and  the  women  $2. 
I  don't  know  what  the  children  got.  Every 
week  my  uncle  collected  my  money  for  me, 
but  it  was  very  little  of  it  that  I  ever  saw.  My 
uncle  fed  and  clothed  me,  gave  me  a  place  to 
sleep,  and  allowed  me  ten  or  fifteen  cents  a 
week  for  "  spending  change,"  as  he  called  it. 
I  must  have  been  seventeen  or  eighteen  years 
old  before  I  got  tired  of  that  arrangement, 
and  felt  that  I  was  man  enough  to  be  working 
for  myself  and  handling  my  own  wages. 
The  other  boys  about  my  age  and  size  were 
"  drawing  "  their  own  pay,  and  they  used  to 
laugh  at  me  and  call  me  "  Baby  "  because  my 
old  uncle  was  always  on  hand  to  "  draw  "  my 
pay.  Worked  up  by  these  things,  I  made  a 
break  for  liberty.  Unknown  to  my  uncle  or 
the  Captain  I  went  off  to  a  neighboring  plan 
tation  and  hired  myself  out  to  another  man. 
The  new  landlord  agreed  to  give  me  forty 
cents  a  day  and  furnish  me  one  meal.  I 
thought  that  was  doing  fine.  Bright  and 
early  one  Monday  morning  I  started  for 
work,  still  not  letting  the  others  know  any 
thing  about  it.  But  they  found  it  out  before 
sundown.  The  Captain  came  over  to  the 
new  place  and  brought  some  kind  of  officer  of 
[184] 


STORY    OF    A    NEGRO    PEON 

the  law.  The  officer  pulled  out  a  long  piece 
of  paper  from  his  pocket  and  read  it  to  my 
new  employer.  When  this  was  done  I  heard 
my  new  boss  say: 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  Captain.  I  didn't 
know  this  nigger  was  bound  out  to  you,  or  I 
wouldn't  have  hired  him." 

"He  certainly  is  bound  out  to  me,"  said  the 
Captain.  "  He  belongs  to  me  until  he  is 
twenty-one,  and  I'm  going  to  make  him  know 
his  place." 

So  I  was  carried  back  to  the  Captain's. 
That  night  he  made  me  strip  off  my  clothing 
down  to  my  waist,  had  me  tied  to  a  tree  in  his 
backyard,  ordered  his  foreman  to  give  me 
thirty  lashes  with  a  buggy  whip  across  my  bare 
back,  and  stood  by  until  it  was  done.  After 
that  experience  the  Captain  made  me  stay  on 
his  place  night  and  day, — but  my  uncle  still 
continued  to  "  draw  "  my  money. 

I  was  a  man  nearly  grown  before  I  knew 
how  to  count  from  one  to  one  hundred.  I  wns 
a  man  nearly  grown  before  I  ever  saw  a  col 
ored  school  teacher.  I  never  went  to  school  a 
day  in  my  life.  To-day  I  can't  write  my  own 
name,  though  I  can  read  a  little.  I  was  a  man 
nearly  grown  before  I  ever  rode  on  a  railroad 
train,  and  then  I  went  on  an  excursion  from 
Elberton  to  Athens.  What  was  true  of  me 
was  true  of  hundreds  of  other  negroes  around 
me — 'way  off  there  in  the  country,  fifteen  or 
twenty  miles  from  the  nearest  town. 
[185] 


UNDISTINGUISHED    AMERICANS 

When  I  reached  twenty-one  the  Captain 
told  me  I  was  a  free  man,  but  he  urged  me  to 
stay  with  him.  He  said  he  would  treat  me 
right,  and  pay  me  as  much  as  anybody  else 
would.  The  Captain's  son  and  I  were  about 
the  same  age,  and  the  Captain  said  that,  as  he 
had  owned  my  mother  and  uncle  during  slav 
ery,  and  as  his  son  didn't  want  me  to  leave 
them  (since  I  had  been  with  them  so  long) ,  he 
wanted  me  to  stay  with  the  old  family.  And 
I  stayed.  I  signed  a  contract — that  is,  I  made 
my  mark — for  one  year.  The  Captain  was  to 
give  me  $3.50  a  week,  and  furnish  me  a  little 
house  on  the  plantation — a  one-room  log  cabin 
similar  to  those  used  by  his  other  laborers. 

During  that  year  1  married  Mandy.  For 
several  years  Mandy  had  been  the  house-ser 
vant  for  the  Captain,  his  wrife,  his  son  and  his 
three  daughters,  and  they  all  seemed  to  think 
a  good  deal  of  her.  As  an  evidence  of  their 
regard  they  gave  us  a  suit  of  furniture,  which 
cost  about  $25,  and  we  set  up  housekeeping  in 
one  of  the  Captain's  two-room  shanties.  I 
thought  I  was  the  biggest  man  in  Georgia. 
Mandy  still  kept  her  place  in  the  '  Big 
House "  after  our  niarriage.  We  did  so 
well  for  the  first  year  that  I  renewed  my  con 
tract  for  the  second  year,  and  for  the  third, 
fourth  and  fifth  year  I  did  the  same  thing. 
Before  the  end  of  the  fifth  year  the  Captain 
had  died,  and  his  son,  who  had  married  some 
two  or  three  years  before,  took  charge  of  the 
[186] 


STORY    OF    A    NEGRO    PEON 

plantation.  Also,  for  two  or  three  years,  this 
son  had  been  serving  at  Atlanta  in  some  big 
office  to  which  he  had  been  elected.  I  think  it 
was  in  the  Legislature  or  something  of  that 
sort — anyhow,  all  the  people  called  him  Sen 
ator.  At  the  end  of  the  fifth  year  the  Senator 
suggested  that  I  sign  up  a  contract  for  ten 
years;  then,  he  said,  we  wouldn't  have  to  fix 
up  papers  every  year.  I  asked  my  wife  about 
it;  she  consented;  and  so  I  made  a  ten-year 
contract. 

Not  long  afterward  the  Senator  had  a  long, 
low  shanty  built  on  his  place.  A  great  big 
chimney,  with  a  wide,  open  fireplace,  was  built 
at  one  end  of  it,  and  on  each  side  of  the  house, 
running  lengthwise,  there  was  a  row  of  frames 
or  stalls  just  large  enough  to  hold  a  single 
mattress.  The  places  for  these  mattresses 
were  fixed  one  above  the  other;  so  that  there 
was  a  double  row  of  these  stalls  or  pens  on  each 
side.  They  looked  for  all  the  world  like  stalls 
for  horses.  Since  then  I  have  seen  cabooses 
similarly  arranged  as  sleeping  quarters  for 
railroad  laborers.  Nobody  seemed  to  know 
what  the  Senator  was  fixing  for.  All  doubts 
were  put  aside  one  bright  day  in  April  when 
about  forty  able-bodied  negroes,  bound  in  iron 
chains,  and  some  of  them  handcuffed,  were 
brought  out  to  the  Senator's  farm  in  three  big 
wagons.  They  were  quartered  in  the  long, 
low  shanty,  and  it  was  afterward  called  the 
stockade.  This  was  the  beginning  of  the  Sen- 
[187] 


UNDISTINGUISHED    AMERICANS 

ator's  convict  camp.  These  men  were  pris 
oners  who  had  been  leased  by  the  Senator  from 
the  State  of  Georgia  at  about  $200  each  per 
year,  the  State  agreeing  to  pay  for  guards  and 
physicians,  for  necessary  inspection,  for  in 
quests,  all  rewards  for  escaped  convicts,  the 
cost  of  litigation  and  all  other  incidental  camp 
expenses.  When  I  saw  these  men  in  shackles, 
and  the  guards  with  their  guns,  I  was  scared 
nearly  to  death.  I  felt  like  running  away,  but 
I  didn't  know  where  to  go.  And  if  there  had 
been  any  place  to  go  to,  I  would  have  had  to 
leave  my  wife  and  child  behind.  We  free 
laborers  held  a  meeting.  We  all  wanted  to 
quit.  We  sent  a  man  to  tell  the  Senator  about 
it.  Word  came  back  that  we  were  all  under 
contract  for  ten  years  and  that  the  Senator 
would  hold  us  to  the  letter  of  the  contract,  or 
put  us  in  chains  and  lock  us  up — the  same  as 
the  other  prisoners.  It  was  made  plain  to  us 
by  some  white  people  we  talked  to  that  in  the 
contracts  we  had  signed  we  had  all  agreed  to 
be  locked  up  in  a  stockade  at  night  or  at  any 
other  time  that  our  employer  saw  fit;  further, 
we  learned  that  we  could  not  lawfully  break 
our  contract  for  any  reason  and  go  and  hire 
ourselves  to  somebody  else  without  the  con 
sent  of  our  employer;  and,  more  than  that,  if 
we  got  mad  and  ran  away,  we  could  be  run 
down  by  bloodhounds,  arrested  without  process 
of  law,  and  be  returned  to  our  employer,  who, 
according  to  the  contract,  might  beat  us  bru- 
[188] 


STORY    OF    A    NEGRO    PEON 

tally  or  administer  any  other  kind  of  punish 
ment  that  he  thought  proper.  In  other  words, 
we  had  sold  ourselves  into  slavery — and  what 
could  we  do  about  it?  The  white  folks  had 
all  the  courts,  all  the  guns,  all  the  hounds,  all 
the  railroads,  all  the  telegraph  wires,  all  the 
newspapers,  all  the  money,  and  nearly  all  the 
land — and  we  had  only  our  ignorance,  our 
poverty  and  our  empty  hands.  We  decided 
that  the  best  thing  to  do  was  to  shut  our 
mouths,  say  nothing,  and  go  back  to  work. 
And  most  of  us  worked  side  by  side  with  those 
convicts  during  the  remainder  of  the  ten  years. 
But  this  first  batch  of  convicts  was  only  the 
beginning.  Within  six  months  another  stock 
ade  was  built,  and  twenty  or  thirty  other  con 
victs  were  brought  to  the  plantation,  among 
them  six  or  eight  women!  The  Senator  had 
bought  an  additional  thousand  acres  of  land, 
and  to  his  already  large  cotton  plantation  he 
added  two  great  big  saw-mills  and  went  into 
the  lumber  business.  Within  two  years  the 
Senator  had  in  all  nearly  200  negroes  working 
on  his  plantation — about  half  of  them  free 
laborers,  so  called,  and  about  half  of  them  con 
victs.  The  only  difference  between  the  free 
laborers  and  the  others  was  that  the  free  la 
borers  could  come  and  go  as  they  pleased,  at 
night — that  is,  they  were  not  locked  up  at 
night,  and  were  not,  as  a  general  thing, 
whipped  for  slight  offenses.  The  troubles  of 
the  free  laborers  began  at  the  close  of  the  ten- 
[189] 


UNDISTINGUISHED    AMERICANS 

year  period.  To  a  man,  they  all  wanted  to 
quit  when  the  time  was  up.  To  a  man,  they 
all  refused  to  sign  new  contracts — even  for 
one  year,  not  to  say  anything  of  ten  years. 
And  just  when  we  thought  that  our  bondage 
was  at  an  end  we  found  that  it  had  really  just 
begun.  Two  or  three  years  before,  or  about 
a  year  and  a  half  after  the  Senator  had  started 
his  camp,  he  had  established  a  large  store, 
which  was  called  the  commissary.  All  of  us 
free  laborers  were  compelled  to  buy  our  sup 
plies — food,  clothing,  etc. — from  that  store. 
We  never  used  any  money  in  our  dealings  with 
the  commissary,  only  tickets  or  orders,  and  we 
had  a  general  settlement  once  each  year,  in 
October.  In  this  store  we  were  charged  all 
sorts  of  high  prices  for  goods,  because  every 
year  we  would  come  out  in  debt  to  our  em 
ployer.  If  not  that,  we  seldom  had  more  than 
$5  or  $10  coming  to  us — and  that  for  a  whole 
year's  work.  Well,  at  the  close  of  the  tenth 
year,  when  we  kicked  and  meant  to  leave  the 
Senator,  he  said  to  some  of  us  with  a  smile  (and 
I  never  will  forget  that  smile — I  can  see  it 
now)  : 

"Boys,  I'm  sorry  you're  going  to  leave  me. 
I  hope  you  will  do  well  in  your  new  places— 
so  well  that  you  will  be  able  to  pay  me  the  lit 
tle  balances  which  most  of  you  owe  me." 

Word  was  sent  out  for  all  of  us  to  meet  him 
at  the  commissary  at  2  o'clock.     There  he  told 
us  that,  after  we  had  signed  what  he  called  a 
[190] 


STORY    OF    A    NEGRO    PEON 

written  acknowledgment  of  our  debts,  we 
might  go  and  look  for  new  places.  The  store 
keeper  took  us  one  by  one  and  read  to  us  state 
ments  of  our  accounts.  According  to  the  books 
there  was  no  man  of  us  who  owed  the  Senator 
less  than  $100;  some  of  us  were  put  down  for 
as  much  as  $200.  I  owed  $165,  according  to 
the  bookkeeper.  These  debts  were  not  accumu 
lated  during  one  year,  but  ran  back  for  three 
and  four  years,  so  we  were  told — in  spite  of 
the  fact  that  we  understood  that  we  had  had  a 
full  settlement  at  the  end  of  each  year.  But 
no  one  of  us  would  have  dared  to  dispute  a 
white  man's  word — oh,  no;  not  in  those  days. 
Besides,  we  fellows  didn't  care  anything  about 
the  amounts — we  were  after  getting  away; 
and  we  had  been  told  that  we  might  go,  if  we 
signed  the  acknowledgments.  We  would 
have  signed  anything,  just  to  get  away.  So 
we  stepped  up,  we  did,  and  made  our  marks. 
That  same  night  we  were  rounde'd  up  by  a  con 
stable  and  ten  or  twelve  white  men,  who  aided 
him,  and  we  were  locked  up,  every  one  of  us, 
in  one  of  the  Senator's  stockades.  The  next 
morning  it  was  explained  to  us  by  the  two 
guards  appointed  to  watch  us  that,  in  the 
papers,  we  had  signed  the  day  before,  we  had 
not  only  made  acknowledgment  of  our  indebt 
edness,  but  that  we  had  also  agreed  to  work  for 
the  Senator  until  the  debts  were  paid  by  hard 
labor.  And  from  that  day  forward  we  were 
treated  just  like  convicts.  Really  we  had 
[191] 


UNDISTINGUISHED    AMERICANS 

made  ourselves  lifetime  slaves,  or  peons,  as  the 
laws  called  us.  But,  call  it  slavery,  peonage, 
or  what  not,  the  truth  is  we  lived  in  a  hell  on 
earth  what  time  we  spent  in  the  Senator's  peon 
camp.  ,| 

I  lived  in  that  camp,  as  a  peon,  for  nearly 
three  years.  My  wife  fared  better  than  I  did, 
as  did  the  wives  of  some  of  the  other  negroes, 
because  the  white  men  about  the  camp  used 
these  unfortunate  creatures  as  their  mistresses. 
When  I  was  first  put  in  the  stockade  my  wife 
was  still  kept  for  a  while  in  the  "  Big  House," 
but  my  little  boy,  who  was  only  nine  years  old, 
was  given  away  to  a  negro  family  across  the 
river  in  South  Carolina,  and  I  never  saw  or 
heard  of  him  after  that.  When  I  left  the 
camp  my  wife  had  had  two  children  by  some 
one  of  the  white  bosses,  and  she  was  living  in 
fairly  good  shape  in  a  little  house  off  to  herself. 
But  the  poor  negro  women  who  were  not  in 
the  class  with  my  wife  fared  about  as  bad  as 
the  helpless  negro  men.  Most  of  the  time  the 
women  who  were  peons  or  convicts  were  com 
pelled  to  wear  men's  clothes.  Sometimes, 
when  I  have  seen  them  dressed  like  men,  and 
plowing  or  hoeing  or  hauling  logs  or  working 
at  the  blacksmith's  trade,  just  the  same  as  men, 
my  heart  would  bleed  and  my  blood  would 
boil,  but  I  was  powerless  to  raise  a  hand.  It 
would  have  meant  death  on  the  spot  to  have 
said  a  word.  Of  the  first  six  women  brought 
to  the  camp,  two  of  them  gave  birth  to  children 
[192] 


STORY    OF    A    NEGRO    PEON 

after  they  had  been  there  more  than  twelve 
months — and  the  babies  had  white  men  for 
their  fathers! 

The  stockades  in  which  we  slept  were,  I 
believe,  the  filthiest  places  in  the  world.  They 
were  cesspools  of  nastiness.  During  the  thir 
teen  years  that  I  was  there  I  am  willing  to 
swear  that  a  mattress  was  never  moved  after 
it  had  been  brought  there,  except  to  turn  it  over 
once  or  twice  a  month.  No  sheets  were  used, 
only  dark-colored  blankets.  Most  of  the  men 
slept  every  night  in  the  clothing  that  they  had 
worked  in  all  day.  Some  of  the  worst  char 
acters  were  made  to  sleep  in  chains.  The  doors 
were  locked  and  barred  each  night,  and  tallow 
candles  were  the  only  lights  allowed.  Really 
the  stockades  were  but  little  more  than  cow 
sheds,  horse  stables  or  hog  pens.  Strange  to 
say,  not  a  great  number  of  these  people  died 
while  I  was  there,  though  a  great  many  came 
away  maimed  and  bruised  and,  in  some  cases, 
disabled  for  life.  As  far  as  I  remember  only 
about  ten  died  during  the  last  ten  years  that 
I  was  there,  two  of  these  being  killed  outright 
by  the  guards  for  trivial  offenses. 

It  was  a  hard  school  that  peon  camp  was, 
but  I  learned  more  there  in  a  few  short  months 
by  contact  with  those  poor  fellows  from  the 
outside  world  than  ever  I  had  known  before. 
Most  o"f  what  I  learned  was  evil,  and  I  now 
know  that  I  should  have  been  better  off  with 
out  the  knowledge,  but  much  of  what  I  learned 
[193] 


UNDISTINGUISHED    AMERICANS 

was  helpful  to  me.  Barring  two  or  three 
severe  and  brutal  whippings  which  I  received, 
I  got  along  very  well,  all  things  considered; 
but  the  system  is  damnable.  A  favorite  way 
of  whipping  a  man  was  to  strap  him  down  to 
a  log,  flat  on  his  back,  and  spank  him  fifty  or 
sixty  times  on  his  bare  feet  with  a  shingle  or  a 
huge  piece  of  plank.  When  the  man  would 
get  up  with  sore  and  blistered  feet  and  an  ach 
ing  body,  if  he  could  not  then  keep  up  with  the 
other  men  at  work  he  would  be  strapped  to  the 
log  again,  this  time  face  downward,  and  would 
be  lashed  with  a  buggy  trace  on  his  bare  back. 
When  a  woman  had  to  be  whipped  it  was  usu 
ally  done  in  private,  though  they  would  be 
compelled  to  fall  down  across  a  barrel  or  some 
thing  of  the  kind  and  receive  the  licks  on  their 
backsides. 

The  working  day  on  a  peon  farm  begins 
with  sunrise  and  ends  when  the  sun  goes  down ; 
or,  in  other  words,  the  average  peon  works 
from  ten  to  twelve  hours  each  day,  with  one 
hour  (from  12  o'clock  to  1  o'clock)  for  dinner. 
Hot  or  cold,  sun  or  rain,  this  is  the  rule.  As 
to  their  meals,  the  laborers  are  divided  up  into 
squads  or  companies,  just  the  same  as  soldiers 
in  a  great  military  camp  would  be.  Two  or 
three  men  in  each  stockade  are  appointed  as 
cooks.  From  thirty  to  forty  men  report  to 
each  cook.  In  the  warm  months  (or  eight  or 
nine  months  out  of  the  year)  the  cooking  is 
done  on  the  outside,  }ust  behind  the  stock- 
[194] 


STORY    OF    A    NEGRO    PEON 

ades;  in  the  cold  months  the  cooking  is  done 
inside  the  stockades.  Each  peon  is  pro 
vided  with  a  great  big  tin  cup,  a  flat  tin  pan  and 
two  big  tin  spoons.  No  knives  or  forks  are 
ever  seen,  except  those  used  by  the  cooks.  At 
meal  time  the  peons  pass  in  single  file  before 
the  cooks,  and  hold  out  their  pans  and  cups 
to  receive  their  allowances.  Cow  peas  (red  or 
white,  which  when  boiled  turn  black),  fat 
bacon  and  old-fashioned  Georgia  corn  bread, 
baked  in  pones  from  one  to  two  and  three 
inches  thick,  make  up  the  chief  articles  of  food. 
Black  coffee,  black  molasses  and  brown  sugar 
are  also  used  abundantly.  Once  in  a  great 
while,  on  Sundays,  biscuits  would  be  made,  but 
they  would  always  be  made  from  tjie  kind  of 
flour  called  "  shorts."  As  a  rule,  breakfast 
consisted  of  coffee,  fried  bacon,  corn  bread, 
and  sometimes  molasses — and  one  "  helping  " 
of  each  was  all  that  was  allowed.  Peas,  boiled 
with  huge  hunks  of  fat  bacon,  and  a  hoe-cake, 
as  big  as  a  man's  hand,  usually  answered  for 
dinner.  Soinetimes  this  dinner  bill  of  fare 
gave  place  to  bacon  and  greens  (collard  or  tur 
nip)  and  pot  liquor.  Though  we  raised  corn, 
potatoes  and  other  vegetables,  we  never  got 
a  chance  at  such  things  unless  we  could  steal 
them  and  cook  them  secretly.  Supper  con 
sisted  of  coffee,  fried  bacon  .and  molasses. 
But,  although  the  food  was  limited  to  certain 
things,  I  am  sure  we  all  got  a  plenty  of  the 
things  allowed.  As  coarse  as  these  things 
[195] 


UNDISTINGUISHED    AMERICANS 

were,  we  kept,  as  a  rule,  fat  and  sleek  and  as 
strong  as  mules.  And  that,  too,  in  spite  of 
the  fact  that  we  had  no  special  arrangements 
for  taking  regular  baths,  and  no  very  great 
effort  was  made  to  keep  us  regularly  in  clean 
clothes.  No  tables  were  used  or  allowed.  In 
summer  we  would  sit  down  on  the  ground  and 
eat  our  meals,  and  in  winter  we  would  sit 
around  inside  the  filthy  stockades.  Each  man 
was  his  own  dish  washer — that  is  to  say,  each 
man  was  responsible  for  the  care  of  his  pan 
and  cup  and  spoons.  My  dishes  got  washed 
about  once  a  week ! 

To-day,  I  am  told,  there  are  six  or  seven 
of  these  private  camps  in  Georgia — that  is  to 
say,  camps  where  most  of  the  convicts  are 
leased  from  the  State  of  Georgia.  But  there 
are  hundreds  and  hundreds  of  farms  all  over 
the  State  wrhere  negroes,  and  in  some  cases 
poor  white  folks,  are  held  in  bondage  on  the 
ground  that  they  are  working  out  debts,  or 
where  the  contracts  which  they  have  made  hold 
them  in  a  kind  of  perpetual  bondage,  because, 
under  those  contracts,  they  may  not  quit  one 
employer  and  hire  out  to  another  except  by  and 
with  the  knowledge  and  consent  of  the  former 
employer.  One  of  the  usual  ways  to  secure 
laborers  for  a  large  peonage  camp  is  for  the 
proprietor  to  send  out  an  agent  to  the  little 
courts  in  the  towns  and  villages,  and  where  a 
man  charged  with  some  petty  offense  has  no 
friends  or  money  the  agent  will  urge  him  to 
[196] 


STORY    OF    A    NEGRO    PEON 

plead  guilty,  with  the  understanding  that  the 
agent  will  pay  his  fine,  and  in  that  way  save 
him  from  the  disgrace  of  being  sent  to  jail  or 
the  chain-gang!  For  this  high  favor  the  man 
must  sign  beforehand  a  paper  signifying  his 
willingness  to  go  to  the  farm  and  work  out  the 
amount  of  the  fine  imposed.  When  he  reaches 
the  farm  he  has  to  be  fed  and  clothed,  to  be 
sure,  and  these  things  are  charged  up  to  his 
account.  By  the  time  he  has  worked  out  his 
first  debt  another  is  hanging  over  his  head,  and 
so  on  and  so  on,  by  a  sort  of  endless  chain,  for 
an  indefinite  period,  as  in  every  case  the  in 
debtedness  is  arbitrarily  arranged  by  the  em 
ployer.  In  many  cases  it  is  very  evident  that 
the  court  officials  are  in  collusion  with  the  pro 
prietors  or  agents,  and  that  they  divide  the 
"  graft  "  among  themselves.  As  an  example 
of  this  dickering  among  the  whites,  every  year 
many  convicts  were  brought  to  the  Senator's 
camp  from  a  certain  county  in  South  Georgia, 
'way  down  in  the  turpentine  district.  The 
majority  of  these  men  were  charged  with 
adultery,  which  is  an  offense  against  the  laws 
of  the  great  and  sovereign  State  of  Georgia! 
Upon  inquiry  I  learned  that  down  in  that 
county  a  number  of  negro  lewd  women  were 
employed  by  certain  white  men  to  entice  negro 
men  into  their  houses;  and  then,  on  a  certain 
night,  at  a  given  signal,  when  all  was  in  readi 
ness,  raids  would  be  made  by  the  officers  upon 
these  houses,  and  the  men  would  be  arrested 
[197] 


UNDISTINGUISHED    AMERICANS 

and  charged  with  living  in  adultery.  Nine 
out  of  ten  of  these  men,  so  arrested  and  so 
charged,  would  find  their  way  ultimately  to 
some  convict  camp,  and,  as  I  said,  many  of 
them  found  their  way  every  year  to  the  Sen 
ator's  camp  while  I  was  there.  The  low-down 
women  were  never  punished  in  any  way.  On 
the  contrary,  I  was  told  that  they  always 
seemed  to  stand  in  high  favor  with  the  sheriffs, 
constables  and  other  officers.  There  can  be  no 
room  to  doubt  that  they  assisted  very  materi 
ally  in  furnishing  laborers  for  the  prison  pens 
of  Georgia,  and  the  belief  was  general  among 
the  men  that  they  were  regularly  paid  for  their 
work.  I  could  tell  more,  but  I've  said 
enough  to  make  anybody's  heart  sick.  This 
great  and  terrible  iniquity  is,  I  know,  wide 
spread  throughout  Georgia  and  many  other 
Southern  States. 

But  I  didn't  tell  you  how  I  got  out.  I 
didn't  get  out — they  put  me  out.  When  I 
had  served  as  a  peon  for  nearly  three  years— 
and  you  remember  that  they  claimed  that  I 
owed  them  only  $165 — when  I  had  served  for 
nearly  three  years,  one  of  the  bosses  came  to 
me  and  said  that  my  time  was  up.  He  hap 
pened  to  be  the  one  who  was  said  to  be  living 
with  my  wife.  He  gave  me  a  new  suit  of 
overalls,  which  cost  about  seventy-five  cents, 
took  me  in  a  buggy  and  carried  me  across  the 
Broad  River  into  South  Carolina,  set  me  down 
and  told  me  to  "  git."  I  didn't  have  a  cent 
[198] 


STORY    OF    A    NEGRO    PEON 

of  money,  and  I  wasn't  feeling  well,  but  some 
how  I  managed  to  get  a  move  on  me.  I 
begged  my  way  to  Columbia.  In  two  or  three 
days  I  ran  across  a  man  looking  for  laborers  to 
carry  to  Birmingham,  and  I  joined  his  gang. 
I  have  been  here  in  the  Birmingham  district 
since  they  released  me,  and  I  reckon  I'll  die 
either  in  a  coal  mine  or  an  iron  furnace.  It 
don't  make  much  difference  which.  Either  is 
better  than  a  Georgia  peon  camp.  And  a 
Georgia  peon  camp  is  hell  itself ! 


199] 


CHAPTER    XII 

THE   LIFE    STORY    OF   AN    INDIAN 

Ah-nen-la-de-ni,  whose  American  name  is  Daniel  La  France 
told  his  own  story  in  neat  typewritten  form,  and  has  been  aided 
only  to  the  extent  of  some  very  slight  rewriting  and  rearrange 
ment. 

I  WAS  born  in  Gouverneur  Village,  N.  Y., 
in  April,  1879,  during  one  of  the  periodi 
cal  wanderings  of  my  family,  and  my  first 
recollection  is  concerning  a  house  in  Toronto, 
Canada,  in  which  I  was  living  with  my  father 
and  mother,  brother  and  grandmother.  I 
could  not  have  been  much  more  than  three 
years  old  at  the  time. 

My  father  was  a  pure-blooded  Indian  of 
the  Mohawk  tribe  of  the  Six  Nations,  and  our 
home  was  in  the  St.  Regis  reservation  in 
Franklin  County,  N.  Y.,  but  we  were  fre 
quently  away  from  that  place  because  my 
father  was  an  Indian  medicine  man,  who  made 
frequent  journeys,  taking  his  family  with  him 
and  selling  his  pills  and  physics  in  various 
towns  along  the  border  line  between  Canada 
and  the  United  States. 

This  house  in  Toronto  was  winter  quarters 
for  us.  In  the  summer  time  we  lived  in  a  tent. 
[200] 


STORY    OF    AN    INDIAN 


We  had  the  upper  part  of  the  house,  while 
some  gypsies  lived  in  the  lower  part. 

All  sorts  of  people  came  to  consult  the 
"  Indian  doctor,"  and  the  gypsies  sent  them 
upstairs  to  us,  and  mother  received  them,  and 
then  retired  into  another  room  with  my  brother 
and  myself.  She  did  not  know  anything  about 
my  father's  medicines,  and  seemed  to  hate  to 
touch  them.  When  my  father  was  out  mother 
was  frequently  asked  to  sell  the  medicines,  but 
she  would  not,  telling  the  patients  that  they 
must  wait  until  the  doctor  came  home.  She 
was  not  pure-blooded  Indian,  her  father  being 
a  French  Canadian,  while  her  mother,  my 
grandmother,  was  a  pure-blooded  Indian,  who 
lived  with  us. 

What  made  it  all  the  more  strange  that 
mother  would  have  nothing  to  do  with  the 
medicines  was  the  fact  that  grandmother  was, 
herself,  a  doctor  of  a  different  sort  than  my 
father.  Her  remedies  were  probably  the 
same  but  in  cruder  form.  I  could  have 
learned  much  if  I  had  paid  attention  to  her, 
because  as  I  grew  older  she  took  me  about  in 
the  woods  when  she  went  there  to  gather  herbs, 
and  she  told  me  what  roots  and  leaves  to  col 
lect,  and  how  to  dry  and  prepare  them  and  how 
to  make  the  extracts  and  what  sicknesses  they 
were  good  for.  But  I  was  soon  tired  of  such 
matters,  and  would  stray  off  by  myself  pick 
ing  the  berries — raspberry  and  blackberry, 
strawberry  and  blueberry — in  their  seasons, 
[201  ] 


UNDISTINGUISHED    AMERICANS 

and  hunting  the  birds  and  little  animals  with 
my  bow  and  arrows.  So  I  learned  very  little 
from  all  this  lore. 

My  father  was  rather  a  striking  figure.  His 
hair  was  long  and  black,  and  he  wore  a  long 
Prince  Albert  coat  while  in  the  winter  quar 
ters,  and  Indian  costume,  fringed  and  beaded, 
while  in  the  tent.  His  medicines  were  put  up 
in  pill  boxes  and  labeled  bottles,  and  were  the 
results  of  knowledge  that  had  been  handed 
down  through  many  generations  in  our  tribe. 

My  brother  and  I  also  wore  long  hair,  and 
were  strange  enough  in  appearance  to  attract 
attention  from  the  white  people  about  us,  but 
mother  kept  us  away  from  them  as  much  as 
possible. 

My  father  was  not  only  a  doctor,  but 
also  a  trapper,  fisherman,  farmer  and  basket 
maker. 

The  reservation  in  Franklin  County  is  a 
very  beautiful  place,  fronting  on  the  main  St. 
Lawrence  River.  Tributaries  of  the  St.  Law 
rence  wander  through  it,  and  its  woods  still 
preserve  their  wild  beauty.  On  this  reserva 
tion  we  had  our  permanent  home  in  a  log  house 
surrounded  by  land,  on  which  we  planted  corn, 
potatoes  and  such  other  vegetables  as  suited 
our  fancies.  The  house  was  more  than  fifty 
years  old. 

The  woods  provided  my  father  and  grand 
mother  with  their  herbs  and  roots,  and  they 


STORY   OF    AN    INDIAN 


gathered  there  the  materials  for  basket  mak 
ing.  There  were  also  as  late  as  1880  some 
beavers,  muskrats  and  minks  to  be  trapped 
and  pickerel,  salmon  and  white  perch  to  be 
caught  in  the  streams.  These  last  sources  of 
revenue  for  the  Indians  no  longer  exist;  the 
beavers,  minks  and  muskrats  are  extinct,  while 
the  mills  of  the  ever  encroaching  white  man 
have  filled  the  streams  with  sawdust  and  ban 
ished  the  fish. 

We  were  generally  on  the  reservation  in 
early  spring,  planting,  fishing,  basket  making, 
gathering  herbs  and  making  medicine,  and 
then  in  the  fall,  when  our  little  crop  was 
brought  in,  we  would  depart  on  our  tour  of  the 
white  man's  towns  and  cities,  camping  in  a 
tent  on  the  outskirts  of  some  place,  selling  our 
wares,  which  included  bead  work  that  mother 
and  grandmother  were  clever  at  making,  and 
moving  on  as  the  fancy  took  us  until  cold 
weather  came,  when  my  father  would  gener 
ally  build  a  little  log  house  in  some  wood,  plas 
tering  the  chinks  with  moss  and  clay,  and  there 
we  would  abide,  warm  amid  ice  and  snow,  till 
it  was  time  to  go  to  the  reservation  again. 

One  might  imagine  that  with  such  a  great 
variety  of  occupations  we  would  soon  become 
rich — especially  as  we  raised  much  of  our  own 
food  and  seldom  had  any  rent  to  pay — but  this 
was  not  the  case.  I  do  not  know  how  much 
my  father  charged  for  his  treatment  of  sick 
[203] 


UNDISTINGUISHED    AMERICANS 

people,  but  his  prices  were  probably  moderate, 
and  as  to  our  trade  in  baskets,  furs  and  bead 
work,  we  were  not  any  better  business  people 
than  Indians  generally. 

Nevertheless,  it  was  a  happy  life  that  we 
led,  and  lack  of  money  troubled  us  little.  We 
were  healthy  and  our  wants  were  f  ewr. 

Father  did  not  always  take  his  family  with 
him  on  his  expeditions,  and  as  I  grew  older  I 
passed  a  good  deal  of  time  on  the  reservation. 
Here,  though  the  people  farmed  and  dressed 
somewhat  after  the  fashion  of  the  white  man, 
they  still  kept  up  their  ancient  tribal  cere 
monies,  laws  and  customs,  and  preserved  their 
language.  The  general  government  was  in 
the  hands  of  twelve  chiefs,  elected  for  life  on 
account  of  supposed  merit  and  ability. 

There  were  four  Indian  day  schools  on  the 
reservation,  all  taught  by  young  white  women. 
I  sometimes  went  to  one  of  these,  but  learned 
practically  nothing.  The  teachers  did  not  un 
derstand  our  language,  and  we  knew  nothing 
of  theirs,  so  much  progress  was  not  possible. 

Our  lessons  consisted  of  learning  to  repeat 
all  the  English  words  in  the  books  that  were 
given  us.  Thus,  after  a  time,  some  of  us,  my 
self  included,  became  able  to  pronounce  all 
the  words  in  the  Fifth  and  Sixth  readers,  and 
took  great  pride  in  the  exercise.  But  we  did 
not  know  what  any  of  the  words  meant. 

Our  arithmetic  stopped  at  simple  numera 
tion,  and  the  only  other  exercise  we  had  was 
[204] 


STORY    OF    AN    INDIAN 


in  writing,  which,  with  us,  resolved  itself  into 
a  contest  of  speed  without  regard  to  the  form 
of  letters. 

The  Indian  parents  were  disgusted  with  the 
schools,  and  did  not  urge  their  children  to  at 
tend,  and  when  the  boys  and  girls  did  go  of 
their  own  free  will  it  was  more  for  sociability 
and  curiosity  than  from  a  desire  to  learn. 
Many  of  the  boys  and  girls  were  so  large  that 
the  teachers  could  not  preserve  discipline,  and 
we  spent  much  of  our  time  in  the  school  in 
drawing  pictures  of  each  other  and  the  teacher, 
and  in  exchanging  in  our  own  language  such 
remarks  as  led  to  a  great  deal  of  fighting  when 
we  regained  the  open  air.  Often  boys  went 
home  with  their  clothing  torn  off  them  in 
these  fights. 

Under  the  circumstances,  it  is  not  strange 
that  the  attendance  at  these  schools  was  poor 
and  irregular,  and  that  on  many  days  the 
teachers  sat  alone  in  the  schoolhouses  because 
there  were  no  scholars.  Since  that  time  a 
great  change  has  taken  place,  and  there  are 
now  good  schools  on  the  reservation. 

I  was  an  official  of  one  of  the  schools,  to  the 
extent  that  I  chopped  wood  for  it,  but  I  did 
not  often  attend  its  sessions,  and  when  I  was 
thirteen  years  of  age,  and  had  been  nominally 
a  pupil  of  the  school  for  six  years,  I  was  still 
so  ignorant  of  English  that  I  only  knew  one 
sentence,  which  was  common  property  among 
us  alleged  pupils: 

[205] 


UNDISTINGUISHED    AMERICANS 

"  Please,  ma'am,  can  I  go  out? "  pro 
nounced:  "  Peezumgannigowout  I  " 

When  I  was  thirteen  a  great  change  oc 
curred,  for  the  honey-tongued  agent  of  a  new 
Government  contract  Indian  school  appeared 
on  the  reservation,  drumming  up  boys  and 
girls  for  his  institution.  He  made  a  great  im 
pression  by  going  from  house  to  house  and 
describing,  through  an  interpreter,  all  the 
glories  and  luxuries  of  the  new  place,  the  good 
food  and  teaching,  the  fine  uniforms,  the 
playground  and  its  sports  and  toys. 

All  that  a  wild  Indian  boy  had  to  do,  ac 
cording  to  the  agent,  was  to  attend  this  school 
for  a  year  or  two,  and  he  was  sure  to  emerge 
therefrom  with  all  the  knowledge  and  skill  of 
the  white  man. 

My  father  was  away  from  the  reservation  at 
the  time  of  the  agent's  arrival,  but  mother  and 
grandmother  heard  him  with  growing  wonder 
and  interest,  as  I  did  myself,  and  we  all  finally 
decided  that  I  ought  to  go  to  this  wonderful 
school  and  become  a  great  man — perhaps  at 
last  a  chief  of  our  tribe.  Mother  said  that  it 
was  good  for  Indians  to  be  educated,  as  white 
men  were  "  so  tricky  with  papers." 

I  had,  up  to  this  time,  been  leading  a  very 
happy  life,  helping  with  the  planting,  trap 
ping,  fishing,  basket  making  and  playing  all 
the  games  of  my  tribe — which  is  famous  at 
lacrosse — but  the  desire  to  travel  and  see  new 
things  and  the  hope  of  finding  an  easy  way  to 
[206] 


STORY    OF    AN    INDIAN 


much  knowledge  in  the  wonderful  school  out 
weighed  my  regard  for  my  home  and  its  joys, 
and  so  I  was  one  of  the  twelve  boys  who  in 
1892  left  our  reservation  to  go  to  the  Govern 
ment  contract  school  for  Indians,  situated  in  a 
large  Pennsylvania  city  and  known  as  the 
-  Institute. 

Till  I  arrived  at  the  school  I  had  never 
heard  that  there  were  any  other  Indians  in  the 
country  other  than  those  of  our  reservation, 
and  I  did  not  know  that  our  tribe  was  called 
Mohawk.  My  people  called  themselves  "  Ga- 
nien-ge-ha-ga,"  meaning  "  People  of  the 
Beacon  Stone,"  and  Indians  generally  they 
termed  "  On-give-hon-we,"  meaning  "  Real- 
men  "  or  "  Primitive  People." 

My  surprise,  therefore,  was  great  when  I 
found  myself  surrounded  in  the  school  yard 
by  strange  Indian  boys  belonging  to  tribes  of 
which  I  had  never  heard,  and  when  it  was  said 
that  my  people  were  only  the  "  civilized  Mo 
hawks,"  I  at  first  thought  that  "  Mohawk  " 
was  a  nickname  and  fought  any  boy  who  called 
me  by  it. 

I  had  left  home  for  the  school  with  a  great 
deal  of  hope,  having  said  to  my  mother:  "  Do 
not  worry.  I  shall  soon  return  to  you  a  bet 
ter  boy  and  with  a  good  education!  "  Little 
did  I  dre'am  that  that  was  the  last  time  I  would 
ever  see  her  kind  face.  She  died  two  years 
later,  and  I  was  not  allowed  to  go  to  her 
funeral. 

[207] 


UNDISTINGUISHED    AMERICANS 

The  journey  to  Philadelphia  had  been  very 
enjoyable  and  interesting.  It  was  my  first 
ride  on  the  "  great  steel  horse,"  as  the  Indians 
called  the  railway  train,  but  my  frame  of  mind 
changed  as  soon  as  my  new  home  was  reached. 

The  first  thing  that  happened  to  me  and  to 
all  other  freshly  caught  young  redskins  when 
we  arrived  at  the  institution  was  a  bath  of  a 
particularly  disconcerting  sort.  We  were 
used  to  baths  of  the  swimming  variety,  for  on 
the  reservation  we  boys  spent  a  good  deal  of 
our  time  in  the  water,  but  this  first  bath  at  the 
institution  was  different.  For  one  thing,  it 
was  accompanied  by  plenty  of  soap,  and  for 
another  thing,  it  was  preceded  by  a  haircut 
that  is  better  described  as  a  crop. 

The  little  newcomer,  thus  cropped  and  de 
livered  over  to  the  untender  mercies  of  larger 
Indian  boys  of  tribes  different  from  his  own, 
who  laughingly  attacked  his  bare  skin  with 
very  hot  water  and  very  hard  scrubbing 
brushes,  was  likely  to  emerge  from  the  en 
counter  with  a  clean  skin  but  perturbed  mind. 
When,  in  addition,  he  was  prevented  from 
expressing  his  feelings  in  the  only  language  he 
knew,  what  wonder  if  some  rules  of  the  school 
were  broken. 

After  the  astonishing  bath  the  newcomer 
was  freshly  clothed  from  head  to  foot,  while 
the  raiment  in  which  he  came  from  the  reser 
vation  was  burned  or  buried.  Thereafter  he 
was  released  by  the  torturers,  and  could  be 
[208] 


STORY    OF    AN    INDIAN 


seen  sidling  about  the  corridors  like  a  lonely 
crab,  silent,  sulky,  immaculately  clean  and 
most  disconsolate. 

After  my  bath  and  reclothing  and  after  hav 
ing  had  my  name  taken  down  in  the  records  I 
was  assigned  to  a  dormitory,  and  began  my 
regular  school  life,  much  to  my  dissatisfaction. 
The  recording  of  my  name  was  accompanied 
by  a  change  which,  though  it  might  seem 
trifling  to  the  teachers,  was  very  important  to 
me.  My  name  among  my  own  people  was 
"  Ah-nen-la-de-ni,"  which  in  English  means 
"  Turning  crowd  "  or  "  Turns  the  crowd,"  but 
my  family  had  had  the  name  "  La  France  " 
bestowed  on  them  by  the  French  some  genera 
tions  before  my  birth,  and  at  the  institution 
my  Indian  name  was  discarded,  and  I  was 
informed  that  I  was  henceforth  to  be  know 
as  Daniel  La  France. 

It  made  me  feel  as  if  I  had  lost  myself.  I 
had  been  proud  of  myself  and  my  possibilities 
as  "  Turns  the  crowd,"  for  in  spite  of  their  civ 
ilized  surroundings  the  Indians  of  our  reser 
vation  in  my  time  still  looked  back  to  the  old 
warlike  days  when  the  Mohawks  were  great 
people,  but  Daniel  La  France  was  to  me  a 
stranger  and  a  nobody  with  no  possibilities. 
It  seemed  as  if  my  prospect  of  a  chief  ship  had 
vanished.  I  was  very  homesick  for  a  long 
time. 

The  dormitory  to  which  I  was  assigned  had 
twenty  beds  in  it,  and  was  under  a  captain, 
[209] 


UNDISTINGUISHED    AMERICANS 

who  was  one  of  the  advanced  scholars.  It 
was  his  duty  to  teach  and  enforce  the  rules  of 
the  place  in  this  room,  and  to  report  to  the 
white  authorities  all  breaches  of  discipline. 

Out  in  the  school  yard  there  was  the  same 
sort  of  supervision.  Whether  at  work  or  play, 
we  were  constantly  watched,  and  there  were 
those  in  authority  over  us.  This  displeased  us 
Mohawks,  who  were  warriors  at  fourteen  years 
of  age. 

After  the  almost  complete  freedom  of  res 
ervation  life  the  cramped  quarters  and  the  dull 
routine  of  the  school  were  maddening  to  all  us 
strangers.  There  were  endless  rules  for  us  to 
study  and  abide  by,  and  hardest  of  all  was  the 
rule  against  speaking  to  each  other  in  our  own 
language.  We  must  speak  English  or  re 
main  silent,  and  those  who  knew  no  English 
were  forced  to  be  dumb  or  else  break  the  rules 
in  secret.  This  last  we  did  quite  frequently, 
and  were  punished,  when  detected,  by  being 
made  to  stand  in  the  "  public  hall  "  for  a  long 
time  or  to  march  about  the  yard  while  the 
other  boys  were  at  play. 

There  were  about  115  boys  at  this  school,  and 
three  miles  from  us  was  a  similar  Government 
school  for  Indian  girls,  which  had  nearly  as 
many  inmates. 

The  system  when  I  first  went  to  this  school 
contemplated  every  Indian  boy  learning  a 
trade  as  well  as  getting  a  grammar  school  edu 
cation.  Accordingly  we  went  to  school  in  the 
[210] 


STORY    OF    AN    INDIAN 


morning  and  to  work  in  the  afternoon,  or  the 
other  way  about. 

There  were  shoemakers,  blacksmiths,  tin 
smiths,  farmers,  printers,  all  sorts  of  mechan 
ics  among  us.  I  was  set  to  learn  the  tailoring 
trade,  and  stuck  at  it  for  two  and  a  half  years, 
making  such  progress  that  I  was  about  to  be 
taught  cutting  when  I  began  to  cough,  and  it 
was  said  that  outdoor  work  would  be  better  for 
me.  Accordingly  I  went,  during  the  vacation 
of  1895,  up  into  Bucks  County,  Pa.,  and 
worked  on  a  farm  with  benefit  to  my  health, 
though  I  was  not  a  very  successful  farmer— 
the  methods  of  the  people  who  employed  me 
were  quite  different  from  those  of  our  reser 
vation. 

Though  I  was  homesick  soon  after  coming 
to  the  Institute  I  afterward  recovered  so  com 
pletely  that  I  did  not  care  to  go  back  to  the 
reservation  at  vacation  time,  though  at  first 
I  was  offered  the  opportunity.  I  spent  my 
vacations  working  for  Quaker  farmers.  All 
the  money  I  earned  at  this  and  other  occupa 
tions  was  turned  into  the  Institute  bank  cred 
ited  to  my  account,  and  I  drew  from  thence 
money  for  my  expenses  and  for  special  oc 
casions  like  Christmas  and  the  Fourth  of 
July. 

When  I  returned  from  Bucks  County  in 
1895  I  found  that  some  of  the  boys  of  my 
class  were  attending  the  public  school  outside 
the  institution,  and  on  application  I  was  al- 


UNDISTINGUISHED    AMERICANS 

lowed  to  join  them,  and  finally  graduated  there 
from  the  grammar  department,  though  held 
back  by  the  fact  that  I  was  spending  half  my 
.time  in  some  workshop.  I  never  went  back  to 
tailoring,  except  to  finish  a  few  suits  that 
were  left  when  the  Institute  shop  closed,  but  I 
worked  for  a  time  at  printing  and  afterward 
at  making  cooking  apparatuses. 

After  I  had  finished  with  the  grammar 
school  I  got  a  situation  in  the  office  of  a  lawyer 
while  still  residing  in  the  institution.  I  also 
took  a  course  of  stenography  and  typewriting 
at  the  Philadelphia  Young  Men's  Christian 
Association.  So  practically  I  was  only  a 
boarder  at  the  Institute  during  the  latter  part 
of  my  eight  years'  stay  there. 

Nevertheless,  I  was  valuable  to  the  authori 
ties  there  for  certain  purposes,  and  when  I 
wanted  to  leave  and  go  to  Carlisle  school, 
which  I  had  heard  was  very  good,  I  could  not 
obtain  permission. 

This  Institute,  as  I  have  said,  was  a  con 
tract  Government  school  for  teaching  Indians. 
The  great  exertions  made  by  the  agent,  who 
visited  our  reservation  in  the  first  place,  were 
caused  by  the  fact  that  a  certain  number  of 
Indian  children  had  to  be  obtained  before  the 
school  could  be  opened.  I  do  not  think  that 
the  Indian  parents  signed  any  papers,  but  we 
boys  and  girls  were  supposed  to  remain  at 
the  school  for  five  years.  After  that,  as  I 


STORY    OF    AN    INDIAN 


understand  it,  we  were  free  from  any  obli 
gation. 

The  reason  why  I  and  others  like  me  were 
kept  at  the  school  was  that  we  served  as  show 
scholars — as  results  of  the  system  and  evi 
dences  of  the  good  work  the  Institute  was 
doing. 

When  I  first  went  to  the  school  the  superin 
tendent   was   a   clergyman,   honest   and   well 
meaning,  and  during  the  first  five  years  there 
after  while  he  remained  in  charge  the  general 
administration  was  honest,  but  when  he  went 
away  the  school  entered  upon  a  period  of 
changing  administrations  and  general  demor 
alization.     New     superintendents     succeeded 
each  other  at  short  intervals,  and  some  of  them 
were  violent  and  cruel,  while  all  seemed  to  us 
boys  more  or  less  dishonest.     Boys  who  had 
been  inmates  of  the  school  for  eight  years  were 
shown  to  visitors  as  results  of  two  years'  tui 
tion,  and  shoes  and  other  articles  bought  in 
Philadelphia  stores  were  hung  up  on  the  walls 
at  public  exhibition  or  concert  and  exhibited 
as  the  work  of  us  boys.     I  was  good  for  var 
ious  show  purposes.     I  could  sing  and  play 
a  musical  instrument,  and  I  wrote  essays  which 
were  thought  to  be  very  good.     The  authori 
ties  also  were  fond  of  displaying  me  as  one 
who  had  come  to  the  school  a  few  years  before 
unable  to  speak  a  word  of  English. 

Some  of  my  verses  that  visitors  admired 
were  as  follows : 

[213] 


UNDISTINGUISHED    AMERICANS 

THE   INDIAN'S  CONCEPTION 
When  first  the  white  man's  ship  appeared 

To  Redmen  of  this  wooded  strand, 
The  Redmen  gazed,  and  vastly  feared, 

That  they  could  not  those  "birds"  withstand: 
As  they  mistook  the  ships  for  birds. 

And  this  ill  omen  came  quite  true — 
For  later  came  more ;  hungrier  birds. 

SLEEP  SONG  FOR  THE  PAPOOSE 

Look,  little  papoose,  your  cradle's  unbound, 
Its  strappings  let  loose  for  you  to  be  bound. 

Refrain : — Oh  little  papoose ! 

On  cradle-board  bound ; 
My  swinging  papoose, 
Your  slumber  be  sound. 

Tawn  little  papoose,  your  mother  is  in : 

She's  roasting  the  goose  on  the  sharp  wooden  pin. 

Ref. 

Bound  little  papoose,  your  father  is  out ; 
He's  hunting  the  moose  that  makes  you  grow  stout. 

Ref. 

Brawn  little  papoose,  great  hunter  shall  be ; 
And  trap  the  great  moose  behind  the  pine  tree. 

Ref. 

My  little  papoose,  swing,  swing  from  the  bough. 
Grow;  then  you'll  get   loose — put   plumes   on  your 
brow !  Ref. 

So  little  papoose,  dream,  dream  as  you  sleep ; 
While  friendly  old  spruce  shall  watch  o'er  you  keep. 

Ref. 

Now,  little  papoose,  swing  on  to  your  rest. 
My  red  browed  papoose,  swing  east  and  swing  west. 

Ref. 


STORY    OF    AN    INDIAN 


Over  the  superintendent  of  the  Institute 
there  was  a  Board  of  Lady  Managers  with  a 
Lady  Directress,  and  these  visited  us  occa 
sionally,  but  there  was  no  use  laying  any  com 
plaint  before  them.  They  were  arbitrary 
and  almost  unapproachable.  Matters  went 
from  bad  to  worse,  and  when  the  Spanish- 
American  War  broke  out,  and  my  employer, 
the  lawyer,  resolved  to  go  to  it  in  the  Red 
Cross  service,  and  offered  to  take  me  with  him 
I  greatly  desired  to  go,  but  was  not  allowed. 
I  suppose  that  the  lawyer  could  easily  have 
obtained  my  liberty,  but  did  not  wish  to  antag 
onize  the  Lady  Managers,  who  considered  any 
criticism  of  the  institution  as  an  attack  on 
their  own  infallibility. 

While  waiting  for  a  new  situation  after  the 
young  lawyer  had  gone  away,  I  heard  of  the 
opportunities  there  were,  for  young  men  who 
could  become  good  nurses,  and  of  the  place 
where  such  training  could  be  secured.  I  de 
sired  to  go  there,  and  presented  this  ambition 
to  the  superintendent,  who  at  first  encouraged 
me  to  the  extent  of  giving  a  fair  recommenda 
tion.  But  when  the  matter  was  laid  before 
the  Head  Directress  in  the  shape  of  an  appli 
cation  for  admission  ready  to  be  sent  by  me  to 
the  authorities  of  the  Nurses'  Training  School, 
she  flatly  refused  it  consideration  without  giv 
ing  any  good  reason  for  so  doing. 

She,  however,  made  the  mistake  of  return 
ing  the  application  to  me,  and  it  was  amended 
[215] 


UNDISTINGUISHED    AMERICANS 

later  and  sent  to  the  Training  School  in  Man 
hattan.  It  went  out  through  a  secret  channel, 
as  all  the  regular  mail  of  the  institution's  in 
mates,  whether  outgoing  or  incoming,  was 
opened  and  examined  in  the  office  of  the  su 
perintendent. 

A  few  days  before  the  4th  of  July,  1899, 
the  answer  to  my  application  arrived  in  the 
form  of  notice  to  report  at  the  school  for  the 
entrance  examination.  This  communication 
found  me  in  the  school  jail,  where  I  had  been 
placed  for  the  first  time  in  all  my  life  at  the 
institution. 

I  had  been  charged  with  throwing  a  night 
gown  out  of  the  dormitory  window,  and  truly 
it  was  my  nightgown  that  was  found  in  the 
school  yard,  for  it  had  my  number  upon  it. 
But  I  never  threw  it  out  of  the  window.  I 
believe  that  one  of  the  official  underlings  did 
that  in  order  to  'found  upon  it  a  charge  against 
me,  for  the  school  authorities  had  discovered 
that  I  and  other  boys  of  the  institution  had 
gone  to  members  of  the  Indian  Rights  Asso 
ciation  and  had  made  complaint  of  conditions 
in  the  school,  and  that  an  investigation  was 
coming.  They,  therefore,  desired  to  disgrace 
and  punish  me  as  one  of  the  leaders  of  those 
who  were  exposing  them. 

I  heard  about  the  letter  from  the  Training 

School,  and  was  very  anxious  to  get  away,  but 

my  liberation  in  time  to  attend  that  entrance 

examination    seemed    impossible.     The    days 

[216] 


STORY    OF    AN    INDIAN 


passed,  and  when  the  4th  of  July  arrived  I  was 
still  in  the  school  jail,  which  was  the  rear  part 
of  a  stable. 

At  one  o'clock  my  meal  of  bread  and  water 
was  brought  to  me  by  the  guard  detailed  to 
look  after  my  safe  keeping.  After  he  had 
delivered  this  to  me  he  went  outside,  leaving 
the  door  open,  but  standing  there.  The  only 
window  of  that  stable  was  very  small,  very 
high  on  the  wall  and  was  protected  by  iron 
bars — but  here  wras  the  door  left  open. 

I  fled,  and  singularly  enough  the  guard  had 
his  back  turned  and  was  contemplating  nature 
with  great  assiduity.  As  soon  as  I  got  out  of 
the  inclosure  I  dashed  after  and  caught  a 
trolley  car,  and  a  few  hours  later  I  was  in  New 
York. 

That  was  the  last  I  saw  of  the  Institute  and 
it  soon  afterward  went  out  of  existence,  but  I 
heard  that  as  a  result  of  the  demand  for  an 
investigation  the  Superintendent  of  Indian 
Schools  had  descended  on  it  upon  a  given  day 
and  found  everything  beautiful — for  her  visit 
had  been  announced.  But  she  returned  again 
the  next  day,  when  it  was  supposed  that  she 
had  left  the  city,  and  then  things  were  not 
beautiful  at  all,  and  much  that  we  had  told 
about  was  proven. 

I  had  $15  in  the  Lincoln  Institute  bank  when 
I  ran  away,  but  I  knew  that  was  past  crying 
for  and  I  depended  on  $3  that  I  had  in  my 
[217] 


UNDISTINGUISHED    AMERICANS 

pocket  and  with  which  I  got  a  railroad  ticket 
to  New  York. 

I  was  assisted  in  my  escape  and  afterward 
by  a  steadfast  friend  and  had  comparatively 
plain  sailing,  as  I  passed  the  entrance  exam 
ination  easily  and  was  admitted  to  the  Train 
ing  School  on  probation. 

The  Institute  people  wrote  and  wrote  after 
me,  but  could  not  get  me  back  or  cause  the 
Training  School  to  turn  me  out,  and  they  soon 
had  their  own  troubles  to  attend  to.  The 
school  was  closed  in  1900  as  the  Government 
cut  off  all  appropriations. 

When  I  first  entered  the  Training  School  on 
probation  I  was  assigned  to  the  general  surgi 
cal  ward  and  there  took  my  first  lessons  in  the 
duties  of  a  nurse,  being  taught  how  to  receive 
a  patient — whether  walking  or  carried — how  to 
undress  him  and  put  him  in  bed,  to  make  a 
list  of  his  property,  to  make  a  neat  bundle  of 
his  clothes,  to  enter  his  name  and  particulars 
about  him  in  the  records,  and  how  properly  to 
discharge  patients,  returning  their  property 
and  clothes,  and  all  about  bed  making,  straight 
ening  out  the  ward,  making  bandages  and 
scores  of  other  details.  I  studied  all  books  on 
nursing  and  attended  all  the  lectures.  Bed 
making,  as  I  soon  found,  was  an  art  in  itself 
and  a  most  important  art,  and  so  in  re 
gard  to  other  details,  all  of  which  may  look 
trivial  to  an  outsider,  but  which  count  in  san 
itation. 

[218] 


STORY    OF    AN    INDIAN 


This  new  life  was  very  much  to  my  liking. 
I  was  free,  for  one  thing,  and  was  working 
for  myself  with  good  hope  of  accomplishing 
something. 

Our  evenings  were  our  own  after  our  work 
was  done,  and  though  we  had  to  return  to  the 
nurses'  quarters  at  10.30  o'clock  at  the  latest, 
that  was  not  a  hardship  and  we  could  enjoy 
some  of  the  pleasures  of  the  city.  While  in 
the  Training  School  I  received  my  board  and 
$10  a  month  pay,  a  very  decided  gain  over  the 
Institute.  Besides,  the  food  and  quarters 
were  far  better. 

After  I  had  been  for  twelve  months  in  the 
Training  School  I  was  allowed  to  go  to  our 
reservation  for  a  ten  days'  vacation.  It  was 
the  first  time  in  nine  years  that  I  had  seen  my 
old  home  and  I  found  things  much  changed. 
My  mother  and  grandmother  were  dead,  and 
there  had  died  also  a  little  sister  whom  I  had 
never  seen.  My  father  was  alive  and  still 
wandering  as  of  old.  Many  of  my  playmates 
had  scattered  and  I  felt  like  a  stranger.  But 
it  was  very  pleasant  to  renew  acquaintance 
with  the  places  and  objects  that  had  been 
familiar  in  my  childhood — the  woods,  the 
streams,  the  bridge — that  used  to  look  so  big 
and  was  now  so  small  to  me — the  swimming 
hole,  and  with  the  friends  who  remained. 

I  found  that  our  people  had  progressed. 
The  past  and  its  traditions  were  losing  their 

[219] 


UNDISTINGUISHED    AMERICANS 

hold  on  them  and  white  man's  ways  were 
gaining. 

During  the  visit  I  lived  at  the  house  of  my 
brother,  who  is  ten  years  older  than  I  and  is 
a  farmer  and  manufacturer  of  snow  shoes  and 
lacrosse  sticks.  The  ten  days  passed  all  too 
quickly. 

Since  that  time  I  have  paid  one  other  and 
much  longer  visit  to  the  reservation  and  have 
quite  renewed  touch  with  my  own  people,  who 
are  always  glad  to  see  me  and  who  express 
much  astonishment  at  the  proficiency  I  show  in 
my  native  tongue.  Most  of  the  boys  who  are 
away  from  the  reservation  for  three  or  four 
years  forget  our  language,  but,  as  I  have  said, 
there  were  some  of  us  at  the  Institute  who 
practiced  in  secret. 

What  I  saw  in  the  reservation  convinced  me 
that  our  people  are  not  yet  ready  for  citizen 
ship  and  that  they  desire  and  should  be  allowed 
to  retain  their  reservation.  They  are  greatly 
obliged  to  those  who  have  aided  them  in  defeat 
ing  the  Vreeland  bill.  The  whole  community 
is  changing  and  when  the  change  advances  a 
little  further  it  will  be  time  to  open  the  reser 
vation  gates  and  let  in  all  the  world. 

Of  course,  so  far  as  the  old  Indians  are  con 
cerned,  they  will  not  and  cannot  change.  They 
have  given  up  the  idea  that  the  Mohawks  will 
ever  again  be  a  great  people,  but  they  can 
not  alter  their  habits  and  it  only  remains  for 


STORY    OF    AN    INDIAN 


them  to  pass  away.  They  want  to  end  their 
days  in  comfort  and  peace,  like  the  cat  by  the 
fireside — that  is  all. 

To  the  white  man  these  old  people  may  not 
seem  important,  but  to  us  young  Indians  they 
are  very  important.  The  family  tie  is  strong 
among  Indians.  White  people  are  aggra 
vated  because  so  many  young  Indians,  after 
their  schooling,  go  back  to  their  reservations 
and  are  soon  seen  dressed  and  living  just  like 
the  others.  But  they  must  do  that  if  they 
desire  to  keep  in  touch  with  the  others. 

Supposing  the  young  Indian  who  has  been 
to  school  did  not  return  to  his  father's  house, 
but  stayed  out  among  the  white  men.  The 
old  folks  would  say  "He  won't  look  at  us  now. 
He  thinks  himself  above  us."  And  all  par 
ents  who  observed  this  would  add:  "We 
won't  send  our  children  to  school.  They 
would  never  come  back  to  us." 

The  young  Indians  are  right  to  go  back  to 
the  reservation  and  right  to  dress  and  act  like 
the  others,  to  cherish  the  old  folks  and  make 
their  way  easy,  and  not  to  forget  their  tribe. 
It  is  a  mistake  to  think  that  they  soon  lose  all 
that  they  have  learned  in  the  school.  Com 
pare  the  school  Indians  with  those  who  have 
not  been  at  school  and  a  very  marked  differ 
ence  is  found.  You  find  on  their  farms  im 
proved  methods  and  in  their  houses  pianos, 
which  their  wives,  who  have  also  been  at  school, 
can  play.  All  these  boys  and  girls  who  have 

] 


UNDISTINGUISHED    AMERICANS 

been  to  school  are  as  missionaries  to  the  res 
ervation. 

The  schools  are  doing  a  great  deal  of  good 
to  the  Indians  and  are  changing  them  fast, 
and  there  is  another  force  at  work  occupied 
with  another  change.  On  all  the  reservations 
the  pure  blooded  Indians  are  becoming  rarer 
and  rarer,  and  the  half  and  quarter  breeds 
more  and  more  common — technically  they  are 
Indians.  Thus  though  the  tribe  is  increasing, 
the  real  Indians  are  decreasing.  They  arp 
becoming  more  and  more  white.  On  our 
reserve  now  you  can  see  boys  and  girls  with 
light  hair  and  blue  eyes,  children  of  white 
fathers  and  Indian  mothers.  They  have  the 
rosy  cheeks  of  English  children,  but  they  can 
not  speak  a  word  of  English. 

After  returning  to  the  Training  School  I 
completed  the  two  years'  course  and  after 
ward  took  a  special  course  in  massage  treat 
ment  for  paralysis. 

I  have  since  been  employed  principally  in 
private  practice.  I  like  the  work  and  the 
pay,  though  the  former  is  very  exacting. 
The  nurse  must  be  very  clean  and  very  regular 
in  his  habits;  he  must  be  firm  and  yet  good- 
tempered — able  to  command  the  patient  when 
necessary.  He  must  maintain  a  cheerful  atti 
tude  of  mind  and  demeanor  toward  a  patient, 
who  is  often  most  abusive  and  ill-tempered. 
He  must  please  the  doctor,  the  patient's 
family,  and  to  as  great  an  extent  as  pos- 


STORY    OF    AN    INDIAN 


sible  the  patient  himself.  He  must  be  watch 
ful  without  appearing  to  watch.  He  must 
be  strong  and  healthy.  Nursing  is  tiresome 
and  confining.  Nevertheless  I  console  myself 
with  the  remunerations  financial  and  educa 
tional,  and  with  the  thought  that  my  present 
occupation,  assisting  in  saving  lives,  is  an 
advance  beyond  that  of  my  scalp-taking  an 
cestors. 

I  have  been  asked  as  to  prejudice  against 
Indians  among  white  people.  There  is  some, 
but  I  don't  think  it  amounts  to  much.  Per 
haps  there  were  some  in  my  Training  School 
class  who  objected  to  being  associated  with  an 
Indian.  I  never  perceived  it,  and  I  don't 
think  I  have  suffered  anywhere  from  preju 
dice. 

I  have  suffered  many  times  from  being 
mistaken  for  a  Japanese. 

Some  people  when  they  find  I  am  an  Indian 
seek  me  out  and  have  much  to  say  to  me,  but 
it  is  generally  merely  for  curiosity  and  I  do 
not  encourage  them.  On  the  other  hand  I 
have  good,  steadfast,  old-time  friends  among 
white  people. 

When  I  first  began  to  learn  I  thought  that 
when  I  knew  English  and  could  read  and  write 
it  would  be  enough.  But  the  further  I  have 
climbed  the  higher  the  hills  in  front  of  me  have 
grown.  A  few  years  ago  the  point  I  have 
reached  would  have  seemed  very  high.  Now 
it  seems  low,  and  I  am  studying  much  in  my 


UNDISTINGUISHED    AMERICANS 

spare  time.     I   don't  know  what  the  result 
will  be. 

Some  ask  me  whether  or  not  I  will  ever 
return  to  my  tribe.  How  can  I  tell?  The 
call  from  the  woods  and  fields  is  very  clear  and 
moving,  especially  in  the  pleasant  summer 
days. 


CHAPTER   XIII 

THE   LIFE   STORY   OF   AN   IGORROTE   CHIEF 

The  genial  exponent  of  the  simple  life  who  furnished  the 
following  article  by  talking  through  an  interpreter,  was  a  large, 
plump  Filipino,  whose  age  was  probably  forty-eight.  He  was 
clad  in  two  necklaces,  two  bracelets,  some  tattoo  marks  and  a 
loin  cloth.  He  speaks  no  English  and  therefore  only  his  ideas 
and  statements  of  fact  are  given.  In  regard  to  figures  he  is 
quite  impressionistic,  "a  thousand"  representing  any  very- 
large  number.  He  was  the  leader  of  the  band  of  Igorrotes  at 
Coney  Island  when  he  told  this  story  of  his  life. 

I  AM  Chief  Fomoaley,  of  the  Bontoc  Igor- 
rotes,  and  I  have  come  to  the  United 
States  with  my  people  in  order  to  show 
the  white  people  our  civilization.  The  white 
man  that  lives  in  our  town  asked  me  to  come, 
and  said  that  Americans  were  anxious  to  see 
us.  Since  we  have  been  here  great  crowds  of 
white  people  have  come  and  watched  us,  and 
they  seemed  pleased. 

We  are  the  oldest  people  in  the  world.  All 
others  come  from  us.  The  first  man  and 
woman — there  were  two  women — lived  on  our 
mountains  and  their  children  lived  there  after 
them,  till  they  grew  bad  and  God  sent  a  great 
flood  that  drowned  them,  all  except  seven,  who 
escaped  in  a  canoe  and  landed,  after  the  flood 
went  down,  on  a  high  mountain. 
' 


UNDISTINGUISHED    AMERICANS 

Three  times  a  year  our  old  men  call  the 
people  together  and  tell  them  the  old  stories 
of  how  God  made  the  world  and  then  the 
animals,  and  lastly  men.  These  stories  have 
been  handed  down  in  that  way  from  the  very 
beginning,  so  that  we  know  they  are  true. 
The  white  men  have  some  stories,  too,  like 
that.  Perhaps  they  may  have  heard  them 
from  one  of  us.  At  any  rate,  they  are  wrong 
about  some  things.  There  was  a  white  man 
who  told  us  that  the  place  where  the  canoe 
landed  after  the  flood  was  a  high  mountain  on 
the  other  side  of  the  world,  but  we  know  bet 
ter,  because  we  can  see  the  mountain  from  our 
town.  It  is  close  by  us  and  always  has  been 
there,  and  our  old  men  point  it  out  when  they 
tell  the  story. 

I  was  born  in  a  hut  in  that  town.  I  don't 
remember  my  father.  He  was  killed  in  bat 
tle  when  I  was  very  small.  I  had  four  broth 
ers  and  three  sisters.  We  did  no  work  except 
a  little  in  the  fields,  where  the  rice  and  sweet 
potatoes  grow,  or  getting  fruit  in  the  woods. 
I  swam  and  ran  and  played  with  the  other 
boys.  We  had  small  hatchets  and  spears  ancf 
bolos  made  of  wood,  and  we  hunted  animals 
and  birds  and  fought  each _ other. 

When  I  grew  up  to  be  a  man  I  went  out 
and  took  a  head,  and  then  I  got  married. 

Among  our  people  a  young  man  must  have 
taken  a  head  before  he  is  made  a  warrior.  Our 
young  women  will  not  marry  a  man  unless  he 


STORY    OF    AN    IGORROTE    CHIEF 

has  taken  a  head.  We  take  the  heads  of  our 
enemies.  Sometimes  these  are  the  people  of 
some  other  Igorrote  town,  sometimes  they  are 
the  little  black  people  who  shoot  with  poisoned 
arrows,  sometimes  it  may  be  some  family  that 
lives  close  by  and  has  taken  a  head  from  our 
family.  We  used  to  get  heads  from  the 
Spaniards  when  they  were  in  our  island,  but 
now  they  have  gone  away.  The  Americans 
don't  like  us  to  take  heads,  but  what  can  we 
do?  Other  people  take  heads  from  us.  We 
have  always  done  it.  The  women  won't  marry 
our  men  if  they  do  not  take  heads. 

I  got  my  head  among  the  black  people  by 
waiting  near  a  spring  until  a  man  came  to 
drink.  I  shouted,  and  he  shot  at  me  with 
arrows,  but  I  caught  them  on  my  shield. 
Then  I  speared  him  and  cut  off  his  head  with 
rny  bolo. 

When  I  returned  to  my  town  I  went  straight 
to  the  house  where  the  girl  lived,  but  she  would 
not  look  at  me  till  I  showed  her  my  head. 
That  pleased  her  very  much,  because  it  showed 
that  I  was  a  warrior  and  could  kill  enemies. 
So  we  were  married. 

Soon  after  this  there  came  a  white  man  to 
Bontoc,  who  said  that  we  must  go  and  work 
for  his  people  and  give  them  things — our  buf 
faloes,  our  rice  and  sugar  cane  and  sweet  pota 
toes.  They  were  not  going  to  do  anything 
for  us. 

This    white    man    was    a    Spaniard.     Our 


UNDISTINGUISHED    AMERICANS 

chiefs  laughed  at  him  and  said  that  they  owed 
us  things  instead  of  us  owing  them.  We  were 
there  for  a  thousand  lives  before  the  Span 
iards  came,  and  they  were  in  our  island  yet. 
We  never  tried  to  make  them  pay. 

The  Spaniards  went  away  angry,  but  came 
back  soon  with  a  thousand  others  to  fight. 
And  all  the  men  of  Bontoc  went  out  to  meet 
them. 

Our  town  is  far  up  in  the  mountains  and 
there  are  no  roads,  only  paths  through  the 
woods,  and  the  Spaniards  could  only  come  a 
few  at  a  time.  We  waited  for  them  in  the 
narrow  places  and  rolled  stones  down  on  them 
and  killed  plenty.  Some  others  we  killed  with 
spears  and  some  with  bolos.  They  burned 
some  of  our  houses  and  spoiled  some  of  our 
fields,  but  they  had  to  go  away  and  we  paid 
them  nothing.  We  got  nearly  a  hundred 
heads. 

The  Spaniards  came  again  and  burned  more 
houses  and  spoiled  more  fields,  but  we  killed 
more  of  them  and  they  stopped  coming. 

We  did  not  owe  them  anything ;  why  should 
we  pay  what  they  call  taxes?  We  were  the 
owners  of  the  island.  We  let  the  Spaniards 
come  because  there  is  plenty  of  room  for 
everybody. 

They  caught  a  few  Igorrotes  and  were  very 
bad  to  them,  whipping  them  to  make  them 
work.  Some  they  whipped  to  death  because 
our  people  will  not  work.  They  do  not  like 


STORY    OF    AN    IGORROTE    CHIEF 

it.  God  never  meant  us  to  work.  That  is 
why  he  makes  our  food  and  clothing  grow  all 
about  us  on  the  trees  and  bushes. 

Our  God  is  the  great  God  who  lives  in  the 
sky  and  shines  through  the  sun.  He  makes 
our  rice  and  sugar  cane  grow  and  looks  out 
for  us — he  gives  us  the  heads  of  our  enemies. 
We  have  heard  of  the  white  man's  God,  but 
ours  is  better. 

A  long  time  ago,  a  white  man  all  dressed  in 
black  came  to  our  town  and  told  us  about  the 
white  man's  God.  He  was  small  and  fat.  He 
could  not  run  or  jump,  he  could  hardly  walk 
and  there  was  no  hair  on  the  top  of  his  head. 
He  had  a  book  with  him  and  he  told  us  many 
things  that  were  in  that  book. 

Our  Chief  asked  if  his  God  looked  like  him. 
He  said  "yes  ";  we  did  not  think  he  could  be 
a  good  looking  God.  We  never  saw  our  God, 
but  he  must  be  much  better  looking  than  that 
man  was. 

That  man  told  us  that  God  had  a  son  who 

died  for  us,  and  that  we  ought  to  leave  our 

God  and  go  to  him.     But  our   Chief  said: 

'  We  did  not  want  him  to  die  for  us.     We 

can  die  for  ourselves." 

No,  we  will  be  true  to  our  own  God,  who 
has  always  been  good  to  us.  We  never  give 
him  anything.  How  could  a  man  give  any 
thing  to  God? 

The  fat  white  man  told  us  that  if  we  were 
very  good  and  did  what  he  said,  we  would  go 


UNDISTINGUISHED    AMERICANS 

to  the  white  man's  heaven,  up  in  the  sky.  He 
said  that  people  there  could  fly  like  birds,  and 
that  they  spent  all  their  time  singing  praises 
of  the  white  man's  God. 

We  did  not  think  we  should  care  to  go  there. 
Our  own  heaven,  where  the  fruit  is  always 
ripe  arid  the  game  is  plenty,  suits  us  far  better. 

The  fat  white  man  who  told  us  about  God 
and  heaven  was  a  Spaniard.  He  said  that 
God  had  sent  him  to  us  but  we  didn't  believe 
it.  A  man  from  our  town  had  been  among 
the  Spaniards  and  he  said  that  they  told 
lies. 

If  the  Spaniard's  God  is  good,  why  did  he 
not  keep  them  out  of  our  country.  They  can 
not  be  good  men  or  else  they  would  not  want 
to  make  us  work  for  them  and  they  would  not 
try  to  kill  us.  When  the  Spaniards  came  to 
fight  us  they  had  guns  that  only  went  off  in 
long  times.  They  had  to  put  something  in 
at  the  top  of  the  gun  and  poke  it  down  with 
a  stick  before  they  could  shoot. 

We  laughed  at  them;  our  spears  were  so 
much  quicker. 

The  Americans  came  and  drove  the  Span 
iards  away.  They  have  guns  that  go  bang- 
bang-bang-bang,  as  fast  as  a  man  can  talk. 
They  are  our  friends,  for  they  do  not  burn  our 
houses  or  kill  our  people  or  whip  them  to  make 
them  work.  That  is  the  reason  why  we  are 
over  here,  because  the  American  people  are 
our  friends  and  want  to  learn  our  civilization, 


STORY  OF  AN  IGORROTE  CHIEF 

so  that  they,  too,  will  not  have  to  work.  Our 
civilization  is  so  much  older  than  theirs  that  it 
is  no  wonder  if  they  do  not  know  some  things. 

The  first  American  that  came  to  our  town 
made  us  laugh,  though  we  liked  him.  He 
was  very  kind  and  gave  us  many  presents,  and 
all  he  wanted  in  return  was  beetles  and  bugs 
and  birds  and  bats  and  snakes.  We  watched 
to  see  if  he  would  eat  them,  but  he  did  not.  He 
put  them  in  boxes  and  bottles,  and  when  he 
went  away  he  had  enough  to  load  two  buffa 
loes.  He  spent  days  watching  the  ants  and 
bees. 

The  children  of  the  place  followed  him,  and 
he  made  us  all  laugh  many  times  because  he 
chased  butterflies  with  a  net  on  a  long  stick. 
He  could  run  fast  and  caught  many. 

Some  of  our  men  who  had  been  in  the  big 
city  where  the  Americans  live,  said  that  the 
Americans  often  make  themselves  mad  by 
things  that  they  drank.  They  ran  about  the 
place  shouting  or  fighting  till  they  fell  down 
asleep. 

This  man  who  came  among  us  must  have 
been  mad,  but  he  did  no  harm,  so  we  liked  to 
have  him  among  us.  When  he  could  get  any 
one  to  interpret  for  him  he  was  always  asking 
questions.  He  wanted  to  know  all  about  our 
religion  and  about  the  animals  in  the  forest. 
He  had  a  book  and  a  little  stick  that  made  a 
black  mark,  and  when  we  told  him  anything 
he  made  black  marks  in  the  book,  and  he  said 
f  231 1 


UNDISTINGUISHED    AMERICANS 

that  these  marks  would  always  tell  him  what 
we  had  said.     That  was  part  of  his  madness. 

One  day  he  went  to  the  chief  with  a  paper 
on  which  he  had  been  making  a  picture  of  the 
country,  showing  our  town  and  the  moun 
tains.  He  wanted  to  know  where  the  river 
went  to  after  it  left  the  mountains.  The  chief 
showed  which  way  it  went  for  a  day's  journey, 
but  he  wanted  to  know  where  it  went  after 
that.  But  the  chief  said : 

'  What  does  it  matter  where  the  river 
goes?" 

He  was  very  mad,  for  he  said  that  the 
world  is  round  and  that  the  sun  does  not  go 
round  it.  We  know  better  than  that,  because 
we  can  see  the  sun  moving,  and  besides  our  old 
men  have  told  us  the  story  of  those  things  that 
has  come  down  to  us  from  the  very  beginning. 

If  he  was  not  mad,  why  should  he,  a 
stranger,  be  troubled  about  where  the  river 
ran?  It  was  not  his  river.  It  was  our  river, 
and  if  we  did  not  care,  what  did  it  matter  to 
him. 

An  American  came  to  us  about  two  years 
ago.  He  was  a  very  good  and  kind  man.  He 
gave  us  plenty  of  beads  and  looking-glasses 
and  brass  wire,  and  he  wanted  some  men  and 
women  to  go  with  him  to  America.  He 
wanted  enough  to  go  with  him  to  a  place 
where  all  the  American  people  were  gathered,* 
that  they  might  build  a  village  and  show  our 

*  The  St.  Louis  Exposition, 
f  939  1 


STORY    OF    AN    IGORROTE    CHIEF 

ways  of  living.  He  got  plenty  of  Bontoc 
men  and  women  to  go,  and  when  they  came 
back  they  had  so  many  wonders  to  tell  us  that 
it  took  six  of  them  three  days  and  three  nights, 
standing  up  before  our  people  talking  all  the 
time,  and  then  they  said  that  they  had  forgot 
ten  or  left  out  much. 

They  said  that  the  Americans  had  small 
suns,  so  many  that  they  could  not  be  counted, 
and  these  made  the  whole  country  light  on  the 
darkest  night.  They  said  that  the  people 
traveled  about  in  houses  on  wheels,  and  these 
houses  went  of  themselves  like  flying  birds 
with  all  the  people  in  them.  They  told  us  that 
many  of  the  Americans'  houses  were  as  tall 
as  the  tallest  trees.  We  didn't  think  that  was 
good,  because  who  would  want  to  climb  a  tree? 

All  the  time  that  the  travelers  were  telling 
of  the  wonders  that  they  had  seen  a  great  feast 
was  going  on  in  our  town.  It  was  the  great 
est  feast  ever  heard  of  among  us.  The  people 
of  the  other  towns  were  all  invited.  One  hun 
dred  and  fifty  buffaloes  were  killed  for  the 
feast,  and  there  were  pigs,  goats  and  all  sorts 
of  fowls,  as  well  as  sweet  potatoes,  rice,  fruit 
and  nuts,  and  the  chiefs  ate  twenty-five  of  the 
finest  dogs. 

The  best  dog  is  a  male  about  four  years  of 
age.  If  he  is  healthy  and  fat  there  is  nothing 
so  good  when  roasted  with  sweet  potatoes. 
Short-haired  dogs  are  the  best.  We  eat  dogs 
when  we  are  going  to  war  because  they  make 


UNDISTINGUISHED    AMERICANS 

us  fierce  and  help  us  to  hear,  see  and  smell 
well. 

There  was  dancing  every  day  while  the  big 
feast  was  going  on,  and  the  people  that  came 
from  the  other  towns  stayed  for  a  week. 
When  it  was  all  over  I  went  away  from  Bon- 
toe  with  a  lot  more  men  and  women  to  come  to 
America  to  see  all  the  wonders.  It  was  the 
first  time  I  had  ever  been  more  than  a  day's 
journey  from  Bontoc.  We  went  through  the 
great  forests,  and  it  was  very  hot  when  we  got 
down  from  the  mountains.  Up  in  our  moun 
tains  it  is  cool,  but  in  the  valleys  so  hot  that 
some  of  the  people  fall  like  dead. 

There  are  no  roads,  but  just  thin  paths 
through  the  woods,  and  these  are  blocked  with 
creepers  that  have  thorns  on  them.  The  wrhite 
men  went  very  slowly;  the  thorns  caught  them 
and  the  creepers  held  them  back  as  if  they 
were  big  snakes.  It  made  us  laugh  many 
times  to  see  the  way  the  white  men  tangled 
themselves  up  in  the  creepers.  We  were 
twenty  days  reaching  the  big  water  (130 
miles),  and  then  only  half  a  day  going  the 
same  distance  in  a  fire  canoe  of  the  white  men. 
We  got  to  the  big  city  of  the  white  men  where 
the  Spaniards  used  to  be,  but  where  our 
friends,  the  Americans,  now  are. 

We  just  had  time  to  look  at  it  and  see  that 
it  was  very  wonderful  when  we  had  to  go  on 
a  canoe  that  was  as  long  as  a  man  could  run 
while  he  held  three  breaths.  It  was  so  big  that 


STORY   OF    AN    IGORROTE    CHIEF 

it  could  have  held  all  the  people  in  our  town. 
There  were  many  people  in  it,  and  they  lived 
all  the  time  in  different  parts  of  that  big  canoe. 

There  was  a  place  in  the  middle  of  it  where 
a  great  fire  burned  all  the  time ;  a  fire  so  great 
that  it  looked  to  me  like  the  fire  that  is  inside 
the  burning  mountain.  I  was  afraid  that  it 
would  burn  us  all  up,  but  the  white  men  knew 
how  to  shut  it  up. 

It  was  this  fire  that  made  the  canoe  go.  I 
don't  know  how,  but  that  was  the  way.  We 
went  very  fast  all  the  time;  just  as  fast  at 
night  as  in  the  daytime.  We  never  stopped  at 
all.  After  the  first  day  or  two  we  saw  no 
land.  I  would  never  have  believed  there  was 
so  much  water.  How  could  any  man  tell 
where  we  were  going,  yet  our  canoe  rushed 
ahead  all  the  time.  There  was  a  man  up 
above  who  told  the  canoe  where  to  go.  But 
how  did  he  know  ?  For  many  days  we  saw  no 
land,  yet  we  kept  on  night  and  day.  Even 
in  dark  nights  when  there  was  no  moon  or  star 
we  went  on  just  as  fast.  We  talked  among 
ourselves,  but  we  could  not  understand  how 
the  white  men  knew. 

After  a  long  time  we  came  to  America,  and 
then  we  saw  city  after  city,  all  packed  with 
wonders.  At  every  place  the  white  people 
crowded  about  us  and  stared  as  though  we 
looked  very  strange.  We  were  carried  for 
many  days  in  houses  that  went  on  wheels  and 
flew  along  like  birds.  And  now  it  seemed  as 
[235] 


UNDISTINGUISHED    AMERICANS 

if  the  land  would  never  end.  We  must  have 
come  nearly  a  hundred  days'  journey  in  a 
week.  But  at  last  we  reached  another  big 
water  again  and  then  we  stopped  right  on  the 
shore  of  this  great  city  of  Coney  Island,  where 
there  seems  to  be  always  feasting. 

All  about  us  there  is  always  music,  but  it  is 
not  good  music,  not  so  good  as  ours. 

Great  crowds  of  people  came  to  see  us  every 
day  and  we  show  them  how  we  live.  They  are 
good  people,  but  they  do  not  look  well.  They 
all  wear  clothes,  even  the  children.  It  is  bad 
that  any  one  should  wear  clothes,  but  much 
worse  for  the  children.  We  pity  them.  They 
cannot  be  well,  unless  they  leave  their  clothes 
off  and  let  the  wind  and  the  sun  get  to  their 
skins.  Perhaps  they  are  ashamed  because 
they  don't  look  well  with  their  clothes  off. 
They  are  thin  and  stooping  and  pale. 

That  is  because  they  work  so  much.  It  is 
very  foolish  to  work.  Men  who  work  hard 
do  not  live  long. 

Everything  we  want  grows  in  the  forest; 
we  make  our  houses  out  of  cane,  rattan  and 
leaves,  our  women  weave  our  loin  cloths,  and 
we  get  our  food  from  the  trees  and  from  the 
fields  of  rice  and  sweet  potatoes  and  sugar 
cane. 

Why  cannot  the  Americans  live  like  that? 
I  would  tell  them  about  our  ways  if  I  could, 
because  I  feel  sorry  for  them;  they  look  sick 
and  they  should  never  put  clothes  on  the  chil- 


STORY    OF    AN    IGORROTE    CHIEF 

dren.     If  God  had  meant  the  children  to  wear 
clothes  he  would  have  clothed  them  himself. 

Maybe  many  of  the  people  cover  them 
selves  up  because  they  know  that  they  do  not 
look  well  without  clothes ;  they  are  too  thin  or 
too  fat,  or  they  are  crooked.  That  is  why  the 
women  hide  their  shapes,  I  suppose.  But  if 
they  lived  as  our  women  do  they  would  soon 
look  as  well  as  ours  look.  Our  women  by 
climbing  about  the  mountains  have  large 
limbs  and  look  handsome. 

I  have  seen  may  wonders  here,  but  we  will 
not  bring  any  of  them  home  to  Bontoc.  We 
do  not  want  them  there. 

We  have  the  great  sun  and  moon  to  light  us ; 
what  do  we  want  of  your  little  suns?  The 
houses  that  fly  like  birds  would  be  no  good  to 
us,  because  we  do  not  want  to  leave  Bontoc. 

The  most  wonderful  thing  that  I  have  seen 
in  the  United  States  is  the  stick  that  you  talk  in 
and  another  man  hears  your  voice  a  day's 
journey  away.  I  have  walked  all  around  and 
looked  at  the  back,  but  I  can't  see  how  it  does 
it.  But  we  don't  need  that ;  we  can  call  as  far 
as  we  want  to  by  pounding  on  a  hollow  tree 
with  a  club. 

This  is  a  fine  country  and  I  like  all  the  peo 
ple,  but  I  am  going  back  to  Bontoc  to  stay 
there  till  I  die.  I  don't  know  when  I'll  die; 
some  people  with  us  live  to  be  very  old— 
maybe,  300  years. 

[237] 


CHAPTER    XIV 

THE   LIFE    STORY    OF    A   SYRIAN 

The  following  chapter  is  a  composite.  Three  young  Syrians 
of  Washington  Street,  New  York,  each  lent  a  part  of  his  life 
to  the  making  of  it,  in  order  that  the  story  might  be  nearly  repre 
sentative  of  the  average  Syrian  immigrant. 

HHE  house  in  which  I  was  born  was  situ- 

^     ated  in  a  little  hamlet  about  half  way  up 

one  of  the  spurs  of  the  southern  part  of  the 

Lebanon  mountain  range  at  an  elevation  of 

something  like  6,000  feet. 

It  was  a  house  of  two  rooms,  the  largest  of 
which  was  nearly  twenty  feet  square  and  had 
a  window  of  glass.  It  was  a  small  window 
with  four  small  panes  in  it.  This  with  the 
door  gave  light  by  day,  and  at  night  a  large 
stone  lamp  blazed. 

The  walls  of  the  house  were  of  rough  stones 
and  the  floor  of  hard  clay,  covered  over  with 
skins  of  sheep  and  goats.  Our  house  sat  on 
a  terrace  and  its  front  yard  was  the  roof  of  a 
neighbor's  house,  while  its  own  roof  was  the 
front  yard  of  another  neighbor's  house  on  the 
first  terrace  above.  The  roofs  are  of  thick 
clay  carried  on  wooden  beams  and  branches. 
These  Lebanon  hamlets  come  down  the  moun 
tains  in  steps  and  the  streets  are  like  ladders. 
[238] 


STORY    OF    A    SYRIAN 


From  our  front  yard,  where  some  orange 
and  fig  trees  grew,  we  had  a  fine  view  of  the 
western  end  of  the  Mediterranean  Sea,  which 
looked  very  close  but  really  was  twenty  miles 
away.  We  could  see  ships  more  than  fifty 
miles  distant  from  us. 

We  were  within  ten  miles  of  a  fine  grove  of 
the  famous  cedars  of  Lebanon  and  only  a 
day's  journey  from  Baalbec,  where  are  the 
ruins  that  Americans  think  so  wonderful,  but 
which  did  not  interest  us  at  all.  Baalbec  lies 
over  the  mountains  inland,  wrhile  at  about 
equal  distance  from  us  on  the  seacoast  lies 
Beirut,  where  the  Governor  of  the  Lebanon 
district  resides. 

Lebanon  district,  which  is  only  87  miles 
long,  has  a  sort  of  independent  government 
protected  by  the  great  Powers  of  Europe. 
The  Pasha,  though  dependent  on  the  Sultan, 
is  a  Christian,  and  we  never  see  Turkish  sol 
diers.  If  a  small  body  of  Turkish  soldiers 
went  into  Lebanon  they  would  never  get  out 
a^ain.  There  have  been  no  outrages  in  the  dis 
trict  since  the  Druses,  helped  by  the  Turks,  be 
gan  a  general  massacre  of  Maronites  in  1860. 
They  killed  35,000  before  the  Powers  in 
terfered  and  established  the  new  form  of 
independent  government,  which  many  of  us 
believe  is  worse  than  the  old  Turkish  domina 
tion,  as  all  power  is  in  the  hands  of  the  Mar- 
onite  priests  and  monks,  of  whom  there  are 
nearly  12,000  in  a  population  of  less  than 
[239] 


UNDISTINGUISHED    AMERICANS 

200,000,  and  they  are  very  corrupt  and  grind 
the  people  unmercifully. 

Almost  all  the  Syrians  in  New  York,  about 
5,000  in  number,  have  come  here  during  the 
past  twenty  years,  attracted  by  what  they  have 
heard  of  America  and  driven  out  by  the  Mar- 
onite  priests'  misrule. 

The  Maronites  are  Roman  Catholics,  and 
the  Patriarch,  who  is  their  ruler,  obeys  the 
Pope  of  Rome.  The  Jesuits  are  very  active 
in  the  district,  and  within  twenty  years  Amer 
ican  Protestant  missionaries,  with  headquar 
ters  at  Beirut,  have  established  many  schools 
and  missions  and  their  influence  has  grown  and 
is  growing.  Where  they  devote  themselves  to 
education  they  do  a  great  deal  of  good,  but 
where  they  engraft  the  theological  subtleties 
of  Protestant  sects  on  the  already  sufficiently 
complex  religious  growth  of  Lebanon  they 
produce  as  much  harm  and  confusion  as  the 
Jesuits.  Van  Dyke  as  an  educator  did  fine 
work  and  his  name  is  sacred  in  Syria  to-day. 
Most  of  the  people  in  Lebanon  district  now 
are  Maronites,  but  there  is  a  large  minority  of 
Greek  Christians  and  Mohammedans. 

The  Maronite  clergy  own  one-third  of  the 
land  in  the  Lebanon  district.  They  are  un- 
taxed  and  have  many  monopolies.  Nomi 
nally  their  wealth  is  for  the  poor,  but  actually 
the  poor  man  is  lucky  if  he  makes  a  bare  liv 
ing.  Everything  works  to  keep  him  down,  no 
matter  how  clever  and  industrious  he  may  be. 
[  240  ] 


STORY    OF    A    SYRIAN 


The  rich  men  who  own  the  land  hire  those 
who  can't  get  land,  agreeing  to  pay  them  from 
twenty  to  twenty-five  per  cent,  of  the  value 
of  crop  raised.  At  the  end  of  the  season  by 
various  swindles  this  is  reduced  to  about  eight 
per  cent.,  the  rich  man  swearing  falsely  con 
cerning  the  amount  received  for  the  crop. 
The  poor  men  out  of  their  small  share  have  to 
pay  a  government  tax  that  amounts  to  a  tenth 
of  all  that  they  possess.  They  cannot  get  re 
dress  from  the  courts  because  these  are  cor 
rupt,  and  the  rich  man  can  buy  any  decision 
that  he  pleases. 

The  principal  product  is  silk  cocoons,  as  the 
mulberry  grows  very  well  on  Mount  Lebanon. 

There  was  a  very  beautiful  view,  as  I  have 
said,  from  our  front  yard.  The  sea  was  in 
front  and  the  mountains  behind  and  on  both 
sides.  These  tapered  up  to  snowy  peaks. 
Much  was  bare  red  and  brown  rock  and  clay, 
but  there  were  also  beautiful  valleys.  Six 
other  villages  and  hamlets  were  in  sight  in 
easy  walking  distance,  so  that  we  did  not  lack 
neighbors.  There  were  no  shops  and  mer 
chandise  was  carried  on  the  backs  of  camels 
and  asses. 

When  I  was  five  years  old  I  went  to  school 
and  studied  the  Arabic  alphabet.  I  wore  a 
shirt  with  a  girdle,  in  which  was  a  horn  ink 
stand  with  a  reed  pen  that  had  a  big  stub  cut 
slantwise.  All  education  in  Lebanon  district 
is  in  the  hands  of  the  Maronite  monks  and 
[241] 


UNDISTINGUISHED    AMERICANS 

friars,  and  a  friar  was  my  teacher.  Our  class 
repeated  the  Arabic  alphabet  in  unison  for  two 
hours  at  a  time  as  one  of  the  exercises.  When 
I  advanced  I  was  taught  to  speak  Arabic  and 
also  to  repeat  and  sing  the  Psalms  of  David. 
My  aspiration,  like  that  of  all  the  other  Mar- 
onite  boys,  was  to  become  a  priest,  to  say 
mass  and  sing  in  the  church.  We  went  to 
mass  every  day,  and  our  appeals  to  Mary,  who 
is  the  great  saint  of  the  country,  were  con 
stant.  However,  we  stole  fruit  and  flowers, 
killed  chickens  and  ran  away  from  school  just 
like  other  boys  elsewhere,  and  the  friar  at 
times  used  to  bastinado  us — that  is,  beat  us 
with  a  cane  on  the  soles  of  the  feet,  an  atten 
tion  which  made  us  howl  till  we  could  be  heard 
about  as  far  away  as  Cyprus. 

We  played  marbles  and  ball,  and  when  I 
was  eight  years  old  I  used  to  go  hunting  with 
an  elder  brother.  High  up  on  the  mountains 
there  is  still  plenty  of  game — deer,  partridge, 
rabbits,  and  occasionally  a  bear.  We  saw 
leopards  twice,  but  my  brother  could  not  get 
a  shot  at  them. 

But  the  principal  excitement  of  our  lives 
was  caused  by  our  wars  with  other  boys.  A 
field  lay  half  way  between  our  village  and  the 
next  one.  It  was  a  desirable  one  from  the 
standpoint  of  boys,  as  we  could  run  races  and 
jump  and  play  ball  in  it.  The  other  boys 
wanted  it,  too,  and  so  we  fought  with  sticks 
and  stones  many  times,  inflicting  wounds  until 


STORY    OF    A    SYRIAN 


the  head  men  of  our  villages  came  out  and 
beat  us  with  sticks. 

One  evening  we  worked  very  late  in  order 
to  make  a  sort  of  fort  from  which  to  fight  the 
other  boys  with  stones,  and  the  darkness  over 
took  us  when  we  were  on  the  way  home.  We 
had  to  pass  a  graveyard  and  there  we  saw  a 
ghoul — at  least  my  brother  saw  it,  or  said  he 
saw  it.  We  ran  all  the  way  home  and  I  nearly 
died  of  fright.  Ghouls  devour  the  dead. 
They  are  quite  common  in  Syria.  I  never 
heard  of  them  hurting  the  living ;  still  the  peo 
ple  are  madly  afraid  of  them.  My  grand 
mother  said  that  in  her  time  there  were  two 
ghouls  that  came  every  night  to  the  graveyard, 
but  never  before  midnight,  when  no  one  could 
see  them.  My  father  thought  it  might  have 
been  a  sheep  or  an  ass  in  the  graveyard,  but  my 
brother,  who  was  twelve  years  old,  was  quite 
sure  it  was  a  ghoul.  So  we  were  careful  to 
stay  in  the  house  after  dark. 

All  the  people  of  our  village  and  all  the  vil 
lages  about  us  were  in  mortal  terror  about 
jinns,  which  kidnap  living  people  and  carry 
them  away,  if  they  do  not  kill  them  on  the  spot. 
My  grandmother  once  knew  a  whole  family 
that  was  carried  off  by  the  jinns  and  never 
heard  of  again.  Sometimes  a  jinn  catches  a 
man  alone  on  the  mountains  and  casts  him 
down  from  a  precipice — at  least  that  is  one  of 
the  beliefs  of  our  people. 

As  I  advanced  in  school  I  was  taught  pen- 


UNDISTINGUISHED    AMERICANS 

manship.  This  is  a  most  important  accom 
plishment  in  Syria.  When  one  says  that  a 
certain  person  is  a  penman  it  means  much; 
it  means  that  he  is  a  scholar  in  the  eyes  of 
the  community.  Good  penmen  are  much 
respected. 

Grammar  was  far  the  hardest  study.  The 
Syrian  grammar  is  famous  for  its  complica 
tions  and  is,  of  course,  a  stumbling  block  on  the 
road  to  useful  learning.  No  one  masters  it, 
but  all  scholars  spend  years  of  their  time 
struggling  to  commit  its  rules  to  memory. 
Books  have  been  written  about  single  letters 
of  the  alphabet,  and  these,  also,  are  stumbling 
blocks. 

I  got  a  little  arithmetic,  some  history  and 
geography  at  this  first  school  and  then  I  went 
to  an  American  mission  school,  where  my  edu 
cation  was  continued. 

It  was  about  fifteen  years  ago  when  I  first 
began  to  attend  the  American  mission  school. 
This  was  very  different  from  that  which  was 
taught  by  the  friar.  At  the  first  school  there 
were  few  books  and  I  got  the  impression  that 
there  were  only  about  500  different  books  in 
the  world,  the  most  important  being  the 
Syrian  Bible  and  some  writings  of  our  saints. 
The  friar  told  us  that  wicked  men  wrote  other 
books  sometimes,  but  no  one  read  them  or 
would  be  allowed  to  read  them._ 

I  believed  that  Syria  was  the  grandest  coun 
try  in  the  world,  the  Mount  Lebanon  district 


STORY    OF    A    SYRIAN 


the  finest  part  of  Syria,  the  Maronite  monks 
and  friars  the  most  enlightened  of  men,  and 
the  Sultan  the  most  powerful  and  urbane 
ruler. 

Going  to  the  American  school  broadened 
my  horizon.  I  found  that  the  world  was 
larger  than  I  had  thought  and  that  there  were 
other  great  countries  beside  Syria.  Gradu 
ally  the  idea  of  becoming  a  Maronite  monk, 
forever  chanting  the  psalms  and  swinging  a 
censer,  or  domineering  over  the  poor  people, 
lost  its  charm  for  me  and  I  began  to  think  that 
there  might  be  some  other  sort  of  life  happier 
and  more  useful.  I  found  that  only  a  few 
priests  really  understood  the  Syriac  service, 
and  that  their  wisdom  and  knowledge  were 
not  nearly  so  great  as  I  had  believed. 

There  was  an  encyclopedia  at  the  American 
school  which  I  learned  how  to  use  after  a  time 
and  this  broadened  my  ideas.  I  read  the  arti 
cles  on  Syria  and  the  United  States,  and  found 
to  my  astonishment  that  the  book  made  the 
United  States  out  to  be  a  far  larger  and  richer 
country  than  Syria  or  even  Turkey.  When  I 
told  my  old  teacher,  the  friar,  about  that  he 
was  very  angry  and  complained  to  the  Patri 
arch,  who  was  scandalized  to  think  that  such  a 
book  should  come  to  Mount  Lebanon.  He 
said  that  it  told  lies. 

I  asked  the  American  teacher  and  he  told 
me  that  the  encyclopedia  was  very  carefully 
prepared,  each  article  on  a  country  being  writ- 
[245] 


UNDISTINGUISHED    AMERICANS 

ten  by  the  men  who  knew  most  about  the  vari 
ous  divisions  of  the  subject.  The  teacher  had 
a  great  many  pictures  of  American  cities, 
streets  and  scenes,  and  I  could  see  that  life 
in  that  land  was  very  different  from  ours.  I 
heard  about  the  telephone,  telegraph  and  rail 
road,  and  as  I  already  knew  about  fire  ships  on 
account  of  seeing  them  go  by  on  the  water, 
it  began  to  dawn  on  me  that  there  was  a  very 
great  and  active  world  outside  of  Mount  Leb 
anon,  and  that  it  might  be  possible  to  find 
something  better  to  do  than  be  a  monk. 

The  American  teacher  never  talked  to  me 
about  religion ;  but  I  can  see  that  those  monks 
and  priests  are  the  curse  of  our  country,  keep 
ing  the  people  in  ignorance  and  grinding  the 
faces  of  the  poor  while  pretending  to  be  their 
friends. 

The  Americans  who  had  established  the  mis 
sion  schools  on  Mount  Lebanon  were  greatly 
hated  by  the  Maronite  monks,  because  they  go 
right  into  their  field,  but  they  have  kindled  a 
great  light  and  it  may  result  in  the  uplifting 
not  only  of  Syria  but  also  of  all  the  surround 
ing  lands. 

Great  changes  have  come  in  the  minds  of 
our  people  since  I  was  a  boy.  They  were  like 
cattle  in  the  old  days  and  took  the  blows  of 
their  rulers  as  a  matter  of  course,  not  knowing 
that  such  a  thing  as  freedom  for  the  common 
people  existed.  But  at  the  time  when  I  was 
going  to  the  mission  school  new  knowledge 


STORY    OF    A    SYRIAN 


began  to  get  about  and  there  were  whisperings 
of  discontent  that  became  louder  and  louder. 

Some  of  the  boldest  of  our  men  began  to 
tell  each  other  that,  the  poor  should  have  their 
own  and  that  the  courts  should  deal  justice. 
One  time  a  boy  of  about  my  own  age  told  me 
that  if  I  went  up  the  mountain  a  mile  and  a 
half  and  looked  under  the  exposed  roots  of  a 
great  tree  to  which  he  pointed  I  would  find 
something  good.  He  was  a  bold,  wild  boy 
and  I  did  not  know  what  he  meant  or  whether 
he  was  just  joking.  Nevertheless  I  went  as 
he  directed  and  in  a  copper  cylinder  I  found  a 
number  of  newspapers  which  were  printed  in 
Arabic.  They  were  from  New  York,  written 
by  Syrians  residing  there,  and  they  bitterly  at 
tacked  the  Government  of  Lebanon,  the  Mar- 
onite  priests  and  the  Sultan  of  Turkey,  saying 
that  Lebanon  and  Syria  could  never  have  free 
dom  till  all  these  were  overthrown. 

I  was  much  frightened  at  reading  these 
papers  and  quickly  put  them  back  where  I 
had  found  them  and  ran  away  from  the  place, 
for  I  -thought  that  if  any  priest  found  me  with 
them  I  might  lose  my  life.  When  I  agaiw 
met  the  boy  who  told  me  about  those  papers 
I  hung  down  my  head  and  hurried  past  him. 
I  was  afraid,  and  besides  I  still  thought  that 
our  Government  was  as  good  as  any. 

Little  by  little  my  mind  began  to  change 
and  my  eyes  to  open,  till  I  could  see  that  our 
people  really  were  suffering  terrible  wrongs 
[247] 


UNDISTINGUISHED    AMERICANS 

which  did  not  exist  in  some  other  countries, 
and  at  last  I  had  a  personal  experience  of  the 
corruptness  of  the  courts  that  made  me  feel 
that  a  revolution  was  needed. 

My  father,  who  died  when  I  was  young, 
left,  in  addition  to  our  house,  certain  property 
in  land,  cattle  and  sheep  that  was  of  about  the 
value  of  $6,000.  This  was  in  the  hands  of  his 
best  friend.  Another  man  made  claim  to  it, 
saying  that  my  father  had  sold  to  him,  arid 
producing  a  forged  bill  of  sale  and  receipt  for 
the  money.  My  mother  went  to  the  court 
with  witnesses  to  prove  the  forgery  and  the 
judge  put  her  off  from  time  to  time.  Her 
witnesses  were  threatened  and  actually  driven 
away  from  court  on  the  day  of  the  trial,  and 
a  decision  was  given  in  favor  of  the  forger. 
My  mother  went  to  the  judge  with  her  uncle, 
who  had  the  statements  of  our  witnesses  about 
the  forgery,  but  the  judge  flew  in  a  passion, 
insulted  my  uncle  and  drove  him  and  my 
mother  away.  Then  they  appealed  and  for 
three  years  more  were  kept  waiting.  At  the 
end  of  that  time  the  court  again  decided 
against  them,  refusing  to  let  our  witnesses 
tell  their  story  and  seizing  their  property  and 
the  property  of  my  uncle  to  pay  the  costs. 

An  appeal  was  then  made  to  the  Governor 
at  Beirut,  and  there  was  much  more  delay,  but 
we  could  never  get  him  to  listen  to  us,  and 
every  time  we  went  it  cost  us  money. 

My  uncle,  who  had  a  high  temper,  was  very 
[248] 


STORY    OF    A    SYRIAN 


angry  at  this  treatment  and  said  one  time  in 
the  hearing  of  a  monk  that  the  judges  were 
rascals  and  the  Governor  not  any  better^  and 
two  days  later  he  was  put  in  prison  and  his 
friends  had  to  pay  much  money  to  get  him 
out. 

When  he  came  to  our  house  again  he  told 
us  that  we  should  all  have  to  leave  the  country 
now,  for  the  officials  would  give  us  no  rest. 
He  went  to  Beirut  and  asked  about  the  steam 
ships  there,  and  we  found  that  we  could  get 
one  that  would  take  us  direct  to  New  York, 
the  place  where  the  Arabic  newspapers  that 
attacked  our  Government  were  printed.  We 
knew  that  that  was  in  the  United  States,  and 
we  had  heard  that  poor  people  were  not  op 
pressed  there. 

We  sold  all  our  remaining  possessions  and 
found  that  we  had  about  $60  left  after  we 
had  paid  for  our  passage  on  the  steamer.  The 
passage  cost  us  $170  and  we  were  three  weeks 
making  it,  for  we  stopped  at  Egypt  and  Italy 
and  some  French  and  Spanish  cities  before  we 
stretched  out  on  that  run  across  the  Atlantic 
Ocean.  I  had  never  seen  any  city  except 
Beirut  before,  and  the  voyage  up  the  Mediter 
ranean  was  to  me  a  series  of  the  most  astonish 
ing  pictures.  But  all  these  seemed  small  after 
I  came  into  New  York  bay  and  found  myself 
almost  surrounded  by  cities,  any  one  of  which 
was  far  larger  and  grander  than  any  I  had 
seen  in  Europe.  We  passed  close  by  the 
[  249  ] 


UNDISTINGUISHED    AMERICANS 

grand  Statue  of  Liberty  and  saw  in  the  dis 
tance  the  beautiful  white  bridge  away  up  in 
the  blue  sky  and  the  big  buildings  towering 
up  like  our  own  mountain  peaks.  I  was 
almost  prepared  to  see  snow  on  their  tops, 
though  it  was  the  summer  time  nine  years  ago. 

My  uncle  had  a  friend  who  met  us  at  Ellis 
Island  and  helped  to  get  us  quickly  out  of  the 
vessel,  and  ten  hours  after  we  had  come  into 
the  bay  we  were  established  in  two  rooms  in 
the  third  story  of  a  brick  house  in  Washing 
ton  Street,  only  three  blocks  away  from  Bat 
tery  Park.  Two  minutes'  walk  from  us  was 
roaring  Broadwray,  seven  minutes'  walking 
brought  us  to  the  Bridge  entrance,  and  fifteen 
minutes'  walk  brought  us  to  the  center  of  the 
bridge,  where,  high  up  above  the  city  and  in 
air  that  rushed  in  from  the  ocean  and  was  as 
fresh  as  that  in  mid- Atlantic,  we  saw  a  part  of 
the  wonderful  picture  of  New  York  spread 
out.  It  was  stunning  after  the  quiet  of  our 
hamlet.  I  took  in  that  picture  day  after  day 
during  the  first  week  after  my  landing  here. 
There  was  so  much  that  was  strange  and  new 
and  suggestive  of  life  and  power  that  I  never 
got  tired  of  looking  at  the  buildings  on  the 
land  and  the  vessels  of  all  sorts  that  shot  about 
through  the  waters. 

I  went  at  night  also  and  saw  the  city  more 

wonderful  than  ever,  the  buildings  outlined  in 

the  darkness,  in  chains  and  rows  and  circles 

and  ropes  of  various  colored  lights — illumi- 

[250] 


STORY    OF    A    SYRIAN 


nated  diamonds  and  rubies,  emeralds,  pearls, 
topazes  and  all  other  gems.  Never  was  there 
such  an  illumination. 

I  had  learned  English  in  the  mission  school 
and  as  I  was  a  good  penman  I  had  no  difficulty 
in  securing  work  as  a  clerk  in  an  Oriental 
goods  store,  where  some  other  Syrians  were 
employed.  My  uncle,  who  understands  the 
art  of  inlaying  with  silver,  ivory  and  mother  of 
pearl,  also  got  work,  and  my  mother  kept 
house  for  us  and  added  to  our  joint  income  by 
embroidering  slippers  after  the  Lebanon  fash 
ion.  Between  us  we  earned  $22  a  week,  and 
as  our  rent  was  only  $10  a  month  and  food  did 
not  cost  any  more  than  $6  a  week,  we  saved 
money. 

I  remained  a  clerk  for  three  years  and  then 
became  a  reporter  for  a  Syrian  newspaper,  as 
I  thought  that  my  education  entitled  me  to 
aspire.  At  first  my  paper  was  pro- Turkish, 
but  when  the  recent  Armenian  atrocities  be 
gan  we  found  a  state  of  aff airs  that  we  could 
not  possibly  defend  and  were  impelled  to  assail 
the  Turkish  Government  and  especially  the 
Sultan — in  fact,  made  a  great  many  bitter 
attacks  on  him. 

Some  of  these  papers  by  secret  means  we 
managed  to  circulate  in  Turkey  and  espe 
cially  in  Syria,  and  I  soon  found  that  I  was  a 
marked  man. 

In  1897,  desiring  to  revisit  Syria,  I  resigned 
from  the  newspaper  and  secured  passage  on  a 
[251] 


UNDISTINGUISHED    AMERICANS 

steamer;  but  I  did  not  go,  for  I  found  that 
the  Turkish  Consul  here  had  telegraphed  to 
Beirut: 

"A about  to  leave  New  York.    Arrest  him." 


I  went  back  to  work  on  the  newspaper,  but 
a  year  later  started  a  printing  office  of  my  own 
in  Washington  Street,  which  is  the  center  of 
our  quarter.  Soon  I  had  a  newspaper  of  my 
own.  This  now  comes  out  three  times  a  week. 

I  attacked  the  Turkish  Government,  and  es 
pecially  the  Sultan,  more  strongly  than  ever, 
and  managed  by  secret  contrivances  to  circu 
late  my  newspaper  quite  widely  in  Syria,  as 
well  as  openly  here.  I  spoke  for  the  young 
Syria  Association,  which  was  organized  here 
four  years  ago  and  now  includes  most  of  our 
people.  It  wants  freedom  from  Syria.  Of 
course  we  do  not  suppose  that  Syria  could  be 
a  nation  standing  alone,  but,  protected  by  the 
Powers,  it  could  enjoy  real  self-government, 
and  it  is  that  and  the  banishment  of  the  mis- 
rulers  that  we  demand. 

An  effort  was  made  to  win  me  over  to  the 
pro-Turkish  party.  A  priest  walked  into  my 
office  one  day  nearly  two  years  ago  and,  after 
telling  me  that  he  represented  the  Patriarch, 
began  to  remonstrate  concerning  my  attacks 
on  the  Sultan.  He  said: 

"  I  have  heard  about  you  from  the  old  coun 
try  and  I  advise  you  not  to  write  against  the 
Sultan." 


STORY    OF    A    SYRIAN 


I  said:  "  Father,  what  do  you  want?  " 

He  answered:  "My  Patriarch  has  empow 
ered  me  to  tell  you  that,  although  you  have 
been  condemned  as  a  criminal,  we  can  procure 
your  pardon  and  have  you  decorated  and  given 
the  title  of  Bey,  provided  you  stop  attacking 
the  Sultan  and  make  your  paper  say  that  he 
is  a  good  man  who  deserves  the  support  of  all 
loyal  Syrians." 

I  replied:  "Don't  come  here  another  time 
and  say  such  things  to  me.  If  you  were  not  a 
priest  I  would  insult  you." 

He  went  away  and  I  heard  no  more  from 
him,  but  I  afterward  received  a  copy  of  a 
proclamation  issued  concerning  me  by  Ra- 
sheed  Bey,  Governor  of  Beirut. :  It  is  dated 
March  12th,  1902.  I  translate  it  as  follows: 

To  THE  PUBLIC  : 

Because  L J A ,  who  is  medium  in 

height,  dark  complexioned,  with  chestnut  eyes,  light 
hair  and  mustache,  and  whose  age  is  29  and  who  is 
from  the  village  of  Rome,  El  Matten,  Mount  Leba 
non,  who  has  published  many  articles  that  make  harm 
for  his  Imperial  Highness,  the  Sultan,  and  which  are 
full  of  treason  and  cursed,  and  who  fled  from  this 
country  because  his  doings  are  criminal,  we  hereby 
condemn  him  to  death,  according  to  Article  66  of  the 
Criminal  Code. 

And  this  will  give  notice  to  the  officials  of  the  Gov 
ernment,  military  and  civil,  and  the  justices,  that  they 

are  to  arrest  this  A if  he  conies  within  their 

jurisdiction,  and  give  him  to  the  court. 
[253] 


UNDISTINGUISHED    AMERICANS 

My  assistant  editor  has  also  since  been  con 
demned  to  death. 

The  authorities  of  the  Syrian  Church  are 
pro-Turkish,  having  been  captured  by  the 
Government.  They  wear  the  Sultan's  deco 
rations  and  receive  his  gifts  and  they  are  not 
true  to  their  own  people.  The  Sultan  rules  by 
means  of  such  people  and  the  huge  army  of 
spies  that  he  maintains  all  over  the  empire. 

It  is  the  Sultan  of  Turkey  himself  who  is 
responsible  for  the  Armenian  massacres.  He 
is  a  bloody  minded  tyrant,  the  very  worst  Sul 
tan  who  ever  sat  on  the  Turkish  throne.  I 
have  said  so  many  times  in  my  newspaper. 

We  look  upon  England  as  having  much 
responsibility  for  the  Armenian  massacres. 
If  she  had  not  held  Russia  back  Turkey  would 
long  ago  have  been  wiped  off  the  map,  and  the 
Christians  now  under  her  Government  would 
be  safe  in  the  enjoyment  of  their  property  and 
the  practice  of  their  religion.  But  lately  it 
has  been  Germany  that  has  come  to  the  front 
as  the  champion  of  Turkey.  When  he  was  in 
Palestine  three  years  ago  the  Emperor  of  Ger 
many  met  Zoab  Pasha  and  publicly  rebuked 
him  for  having  surrendered  Crete  to  the 
Powers. 

The  little  Syrian  city  which  we  have  estab 
lished  within  the  big  city  of  New  York  has 
its  distinctive  life  and  its  distinctive  institu 
tions.  It  has  six  newspapers  printed  in 
Arabic,  one  of  them  a  daily ;  it  has  six  churches 
[254] 


STORY    OF    A    SYRIAN 


conducted  by  Syrian  priests,  and  many  stores, 
whose  signs,  wares  and  owners  are  all  Syrian. 

There  are  two  Syrian  drug  stores  and  many 
dry  goods,  notions,  jewelry,  antiques  and 
French  novelties,  and  manufacturers  of 
brooches,  kimonas,  wrappers,  suspenders,  to 
bacco,  cigarettes,  silk  embroidery,  silk  shawls, 
Oriental  goods,  rugs,  arms,  etc.  A  Syrian  res 
taurant  recently  established  in  Cortlandt 
Street  is  the  best  in  the  city.  Our  people  are 
active  and  are  doing  well  in  business  here,  as 
any  one  may  know  by  looking  at  the  number 
of  advertisements  in  the  newspapers. 

When  we  first  came  we  expected  to  return 
to  Syria,  but  this  country  is  very  attractive  and 
we  have  stayed  until  we  have  put  out  roots. 
Two- thirds  of  our  men  now  are  American  cit 
izens,  and  the  others  are  fast  progressing 
along  the  same  lines.  Still  we  feel  friendship 
for  the  old  country  and  a  desire  to  secure  her 
welfare  and  especially  her  freedom. 

When  we  say  that  300,000  Christian  people 
have  recently  been  butchered  by  the  Turks  in 
Armenia  it  does  not  convey  any  clear  idea  to 
the  American  mind  because  people  here  are  so 
used  to  peace  and  order  and  their  imaginations 
simply  refuse  to  think  out  the  details. 

Let  us,  then,  take  a  village  of  300  Armeni 
ans  that  has  off  ended  the  Pasha  of  the  district 
but  has  forgotten  the  incident.  In  the  morn 
ing  all  the  people  get  up  and  go  about  their 
work ;  the  whole  place  hums  with  life  and  mer- 
[255] 


UNDISTINGUISHED    AMERICANS 

riment.  Suddenly  there  is  an  alarm:  "The 
soldiers  are  coming!"  Then  the  people  re 
member  that  the  Pasha  is  offended  and  the 
wildest  confusion  results.  Then  women  and 
children  run  shrieking  through  the  streets, 
calling  to  each,  collecting  their  families,  and 
then  trying  to  run  to  some  place  of  conceal 
ment. 

But  the  laughing  soldiers  are  upon  them, 
making  sport  of  their  fear  and  their  suffer 
ings.  The  guns  soon  quiet  the  fighting  men 
and  the  youths,  and  then  the  boys  and  old 
women  are  slaughtered  at  leisure  and  with 
true  relish.  The  pretty  women  are  left  till  the 
last. 

Soon  after  the  site  of  that  village  is  covered 
with  ashes  and  corpses. 

If  Americans  repeat  that  picture  a  thousand 
times  they  may  have  some  conception  of  what 
the  Armenian  massacres  really  are. 

They  express  the  Turk  at  his  very  worst  as 
we  find  him  in  the  person  of  the  Sultan. 

Such  things  are  not  done  in  Syria,  because 
Syria  is  on  the  seacoast  and  the  war  ships  of 
the  Christian  Powers  are  very  convenient.  In 
1860  the  Druses  began  massacring  Christians 
in  Syria,  but  the  Christian  Powers  interfered 
and  since  then  the  Christians  there  have  been 
under  the  protection  of  those  Powers. 

But  Armenia  is  remote  and  the  Turkish 
Government  can  lie  about  the  causes  and  re 
sults  of  trouble  there. 

[  256  ] 


UNI 


CHAPTER    XV 

THE   LIFE    STORY    OF   A    JAPANESE 
SERVANT 

Those  who  have  wondered  what  was  behind  the  uniform 
politeness  and  unreadable  face  of  a  Japanese  servant  will  be 
interested  in  this  very  frank  confession  of  one,  whose  precon 
ceived  ideal  of  America  as  a  land  of  opportunity  and  equality 
has  been  disproved  by  his  experience  here.  No  alterations 
whatever  have  been  made  in  the  manuscript,  for  his  occasional 
use  of  Japanese  idioms  and  of  bookish  English  makes  his  narra 
tive  all  the  more  personal  and  naive.  He  requests  his  name 
withheld,  but  possibly  some  of  his  employers  will  recognize 
themselves  as  seen  in  a  Japanese  mirror. 

THE  desire  to  see  America  was  burning  at 
my  boyish  heart.  The  land  of  freedom 
and  civilization  of  which  I  heard  so  much  from 
missionaries  and  the  wonderful  story  of 
America  I  heard  of  those  of  my  race  who  re 
turned  from  here  made  my  longing  ungov 
ernable.  Meantime  I  have  been  reading  a 
popular  novel  among  the  boys,  "  The  Adven 
turous  Life  of  Tsurukichi  Tanaka,  Japanese 
Robinson  Crusoe."  How  he  acquired  new 
knowledge  from  America  and  how  he  is  hon 
ored  and  favored  by  the  capitalists  in  Japan. 
How  willingly  he  has  endured  the  hardships 
in  order  to  achieve  the  success.  The  story 
made  a  strong  impression  on  my  mind. 
Finally  I  made  up  my  mind  to  come  to  this 
country  to  receive  an  American  education. 
[257] 


UNDISTINGUISHED    AMERICANS 

I  was  an  orphan  and  the  first  great  trouble 
was  who  will  help  me  the  expense?  I  have 
some  property  my  father  left  for  me.  But  a 
minor  has  not  legally  inherited,  hence  no 
power  to  dispossess  them.  There  must  be  at 
least  200  yen  for  the  fare  and  equipment. 
While  200  yen  has  only  exchange  value  to 
$100  of  American  gold,  the  sum  is  really  a 
considerable  amount  for  a  boy.  Two  hundred 
yen  will  be  a  sufficient  capital  to  start  a  small 
grocery  store  in  the  country  town  or  to  start 
a  prospective  fish  market  in  the  city.  Of 
course,  my  uncle  shook  his  head  and  would  not 
allow  me  to  go  to  America.  After  a  great 
deal  of  difficulty  and  delay  I  have  prevailed 
over  his  objection.  My  heart  swelled  joy 
when  I  got  a  passport,  Government  permis 
sion  to  leave  the  country,  after  waiting  thirty 
days  investigated  if  really  I  am  a  student  and 
who  are  the  guardians  to  pay  money  in  case 
of  necessity.  A  few  days  later  I  found  my 
self  on  board  the  Empress  of  Japan,  of  the 
Canadian  Pacific  Line.  The  moment  steamer 
commence  to  leave  Yokohama  I  wished  to 
jump  back  to  shore,  but  was  too  late  and  I 
was  too  old  and  ashamed  to  cry. 

After  the  thirteen  days'  weary  voyage  we 
reached  Victoria,  B.  C.  When  I  have  landed 
there  I  have  disappointed  as  there  not  any 
wonderful  sight  to  be  seen  not  much  different 
that  of  foreign  settlement  in  Yokohama.  My 
destination  was  Portland,  Ore.,  where  my 
[258] 


STORY  OF  A  JAPANESE  SERVANT 

cousin  is  studying.  Before  I  took  a  boat  in 
Puget  Sound  to  Tacoma,  Wash.,  we  have  to 
be  examined  by  the  immigration  officer.  To 
my  surprise  these  officers  looked  to  me  like  a 
plain  citizen — no  extravagant  dignity,  no  au 
thoritative  air.  I  felt  so  envious,  I  said  to 
myself,  "  Ah!  Indeed  this  is  the  characteristic 
of  democracy,  equality  of  personal  right  so 
well  shown."  I  respect  the  officers  more  on 
this  account.  They  asked  me  several  ques 
tions.  I  answered  with  my  broken  English  I 
have  learned  at  Yokohama  Commercial 
School.  Finally  they  said:  "  So  you  are  a 
student?  How  much  money  have  you  at 
hand?"  I  showed  them  $50.  The  law  re 
quires  $30.  The  officers  gave  me  a  piece  of 
stamped  paper — certificate — to  permit  me  go 
into  the  United  States.  I  left  Victoria  8 
p.  M.  and  arrived  Tacoma,  Wash,,  6  A.  M. 
Again  I  have  surprised  with  the  muddy  streets 
and  the  dirty  wharf.  I  thought  the  wharf  of 
Yokohama  is  hundred  times  better.  Next 
morning  I  left  for  Portland,  Ore. 

Great  disappointment  and  regret  I  have  ex 
perienced  when  I  was  told  that  I,  the  boy  of 
17  years  old,  smaller  in  stature  indeed  than  an 
ordinary  14  years  old  American  boy,  imper 
fect  in  English  knowledge,  I  can  be  any  use 
here,  but  become  a  domestic  servant,  as  the 
field  for  Japanese  very  narrow  and  limited. 
Thus  reluctantly  I  have  submitted  to  be  a  re 
cruit  of  the  army  of  domestic  servants  of 
[259] 


UNDISTINGUISHED    AMERICANS 

which  I  ever  dreamed  up  to  this  time.  The 
place  where  I  got  to  work  in  the  first  time  was 
a  boarding  house.  My  duties  were  to  peel  po 
tatoes,  wash  the  dishes,  a  few  laundry  work, 
and  also  I  was  expected  to  do  whatever  mis 
tress,  waitress  and  cook  has  told  me. 

When  I  first  entered  the  kitchen  wearing  a 
white  apron  what  an  uncomfortable  and  mor 
tifying  feeling  I  experienced.  I  thought  I 
shall  never  be  able  to  proceed  the  work.  I 
felt  as  if  I  am  pressed  down  on  my  shoulder 
with  loaded  tons  of  weight.  My  heart  palpi 
tates.  I  did  not  know  what  I  am  and  what 
to  say.  I  stood  by  the  door  of  kitchen  motion 
less  like  a  stone,  with  a  dumbfounded  silence. 
The  cook  gave  me  a  scornful  look  and  said 
nothing.  Perhaps  at  her  first  glance  she  per 
ceived  me  entirely  unfit  to  be  her  help.  A 
kindly  looking  waitress,  slender,  alert  Swedish 
girl,  sympathetically  put  the  question  to  me  if 
I  am  first  time  to  work.  She  said,  "  Oh !  well, 
you  will  get  learn  and  soon  be  used  to  it!  "  as 
if  she  has  fully  understand  the  situation.  In 
deed,  this  ordinary  remarks  were  such  a  en 
couragement.  She  and  cook  soon  opened  the 
conference  how  to  rescue  me.  In  a  moment  I 
was  to  the  mercy  of  Diana  of  the  kitchen  like 
Arethusa.  Whistling  up  the  courage  I 
started  to  work.  The  work  being  entirely 
new  and  also  such  an  unaccustomed  one,  I  felt 
exceedingly  unpleasant  and  hard.  Sonorous 
voice  from  the  cook  of  my  slowness  in  peeling 
[  260  ] 


STORY  OF  A  JAPANESE  SERVANT 

potatoes  often  vibrated  into  my  tympanum. 
The  waitress  occasionally  called  out  for  the 
butter  plates  and  saucers  at  the  top  of  her 
displeasing  voice.  Frequently  the  words 
"  Hurry  up !  "  were  added.  I  always  noticed 
her  lips  at  the  motion  rather  than  hands.  The 
proprietor,  an  old  lady,  painstakingly  taught 
me  to  work  how.  Almost  always  commenc 
ing  the  phrase  "  I  show  you "  and  ending 
'k  Did  you  understand?  "  The  words  were  so 
prominently  sounded ;  finally  made  me  tired  of 
it  and  latter  grew  hated  to  hear  of  it.  Taking 
the  advantage  of  my  green  hand  Diana  of 
kitchen  often  unloaded  hers  to  me.  Thus  I 
have  been  working  almost  all  the  time  from 
5.30  A.  M.  to  9  p.  M,  When  I  got  through  the 
day's  work  I  was  tired. 

Things  went  on,  however,  fairly  well  for 
the  first  six  days,  forgetting  my  state  and  try 
ing  to  adapt  my  own  into  the  environment. 
But  when  Sunday  come  all  my  subsided  emo 
tions  sprung  up,  recollecting  how  pleasantly  I 
used  spend  the  holidays.  This  memory  of 
past  pleasure  vast  contrast  of  the  present  one 
made  me  feel  ache.  What  would  the  boys  in 
Japan  say  if  they  found  me  out.  I  am  thus 
employed  in  the  kitchen  receiving  the  orders 
from  the  maid-servant  whom  I  have  once 
looked  down  and  thought  never  to  be  equal 
while  I  was  dining  at  my  uncle's  house.  I  feel 
the  home-sick.  I  was  so  lonesome  and  so 
sorry  that  I  came  to  America.  Ignoring  the 
[261] 


UNDISTINGUISHED    AMERICANS 

kind  advice  of  my  friends,  rejecting  the  offer 
of  help  from  my  uncle  at  home,  quickened  by 
my  youthful  sentiment  to  be  the  independent, 
and  believing  the  work  alone  to  be  the  noble,  I 
came  to  this  country  to  educate  myself  worthy 
to  my  father's  name.  How  beautiful  idea  it 
was  while  it  existed  in  imagination,  but  how 
hard  it  is  when  it  came  to  practice.  There  was 
no  honor,  no  responsibility,  no  sense  of  duty, 
but  the  pliancy  of  servitude  was  the  cardinal 
requirement.  There  is  no  personal  liberty 
while  your  manhood  is  completely  ignored. 

Subduing  my  vanity,  overcoming  from  the 
humiliation  and  swallowing  down  all  the  com 
plaints,  weariness  and  discouragement,  I  went 
on  one  week  until  Sunday.  In  spite  of  my 
determination  to  face  into  the  world,  manly 
defending  my  own  in  what  I  have  within,  to 
gether  with  my  energy  and  ability,  I  could  not 
resist  .the  offspring  from  my  broken-hearted 
emotions.  Carrying  the  heavy  and  sad  heart 
I .  was  simply  dragged  by  the  day's  routine 
work.  The  old  lady  inquired  me  if  I  am  not 
sick.  I  replied,  "  No."  Thank  enough  for  a 
first  time  she  gave  me  a  chance  to  rest  from 
1  o'clock  to  4  afternoon.  Sooner  I  retired 
into  my  room,  locked  the  door,  throwing  the 
apron  away.  I  cast  myself  down  on  the  bed 
and  sobbed  to  my  heart  contention.  Thus  let 
out  all  my  suppressed  emotion  of  grief  from 
the  morning.  You  might  laugh  at  me,  yet 
none  the  less  it  was  a  true  state  of  my  mind 


STORY  OF  A  JAPANESE  SERVANT 

at  that  moment.  After  this  free  outburst  of 
my  passion  I  felt  better.  I  was  keenly  felt 
the  environment  was  altogether  not  congenial. 
I  noticed  myself  I  am  inclining  considerably 
sensitive. 

After  I  stay  thereabout  ten  days  I  asked 
the  old  lady  that  I  should  be  discharged.  She 
wanted  me  to  state  the  reason.  My  real  ob 
jection  was  that  the  work  was  indeed  too  hard 
and  unpleasant  for  me  to  bear  and  also  there 
were  no  time  even  to  read  a  book.  But  I 
thought  it  rather  impolite  to  say  so  and  partly 
my  strange  pride  hated  to  confess  my  weak 
ness,  fearing  the  reflection  as  a  lazy  boy. 
Really  I  could  not  think  how  smoothly  I 
should  tell  my  reasons.  So  I  kept  silent 
rather  with  a  stupefied  look.  She  suggested 
me  if  the  work  were  not  too  hard.  It  was  just 
the  point,  but  how  foolish  I  was;  I  did  posi 
tively  denied.  '  Then  why  can  you  not  stay 
here  ?  "~  she  went  on.  I  said,  childishly,  "I 
have  nothing  to  complain;  simply  I  wants  to 
go  back  to  New  York.  My  passion  wants  to." 
Then  she  smiled  and  said,  "  Poor  boy;  you  bet 
ter  think  over;  I  shall  speak  to  you  to-mor 
row."  Next  day  she  told  me  how  she  shall 
be  sorry  to  lose  me  just  when  I  have  began  to 
be  handy  to  her  after  the  hard  task  to  taught 
me  work  how.  Tactfully  she  persuaded  me 
to  stay.  At  the  end  of  second  week  I  asked 
my  wages,  but  she  refused  on  the  ground  that 
if  she  does  I  might  leave  her.  Day  by  day  my 
[263] 


UNDISTINGUISHED    AMERICANS 

sorrow  and  regret  grew  stronger.  My  heavy 
heart  made  me  feel  so  hard  to  work.  At  that 
moment  I  felt  as  if  I  am  in  the  prison  assigned 
to  the  hard  labor.  My  coveted  desire  was  to 
he  freed  from  the  yoke  of  this  old  lady.  Be 
lieving  the  impossibility  to  obtain  her  sanction, 
early  in  the  next  morning  while  everybody  still 
in  the  bed,  I  hide  my  satchel  under  the  bush 
in  the  back  yard.  When  mistress  went  on 
market  afternoon,  while  everybody  is  busy,  I 
have  jumped  out  from  the  window  and  climbed 
up  the  fence  to  next  door  and  slip  away. 
Leaving  the  note  and  wages  behind  me,  I  hur 
ried  back  to  Japanese  Christian  Home. 

Since  then  I  have  tried  a  few  other  places 
with  a  better  success  at  each  trial  and  in  course 
of  time  I  have  quite  accustomed  to  it  and 
gradually  become  indifferent  as  the  humilia 
tion  melted  down.  Though  I  never  felt  proud 
of  this  vocation,  in  several  cases  I  have  com 
menced  to  manifest  the  interest  of  my  avoca 
tion  as  a  professor  of  Dust  and  Ashes.  The 
place  where  I  worked  nearly  three  years  was 
an  ideal  position  for  a  servant  as  could  be  had. 
The  master  was  a  manager  of  a  local  whole 
sale  concern.  He  was  a  man  of  sunny  side 
of  age,  cultured  and  careful,  conservative  gen 
tleman,  being  a  graduate  of  Princeton.  His 
wife,  Mrs.  B.,  was  young  and  pretty,  dignified 
yet  not  boasted.  She  was  wonderfully  indus 
trial  lady.  She  attends  woman's  club,  church 
and  social  functions.  Yet  never  neglect  her 
[264] 


STORY  OF  A  JAPANESE  SERVANT 

home  duty.  Sometimes  I  found  her  before 
the  sewing  machine.  She  was  such  a  devoted 
wife  whenever  she  went  out  shopping,  to  club, 
or  afternoon  tea,  or  what  not,  she  was  always 
at  home  before  her  husband  come  back  from 
the  office.  Often  she  went  out  a  block  or  two 
to  meet  him  and  then  both  come  home  to 
gether  side  by  side.  Their  home  life  was  in 
deed  an  ideal  one.  Their  differences  were 
easily  made  out.  It  was  very  seldom  the  mas 
ter  alone  goes  out  the  evening,  except  in  busi 
ness.  Occasionally  they  went  to  the  theater 
and  concert.  Every  Sunday  both  went  to 
gether  to  the  morning  service  and  afternoon 
they  drived  to  the  cemetery,  where  the  mis 
tress's  beloved  mother  resting  eternally. 

She  was  such  a  sympathetic  young  lady 
whenever  I  was  busy,  being  near  examination. 
She  arranged  for  me  not  to  have  any  company 
and  very  often  they  have  dined  out.  Indeed, 
I  adored  her  as  much  as  Henry  Esmond  did 
to  Lady  Castlemond.  She  was,  however,  not 
angel  or  goddess.  Sometimes  she  showed  the 
weakness  of  human  nature.  One  day  while 
I  was  wiping  the  mirror  of  the  hall  stand  the 
mirror  slipped  down  and  broken  to  pieces. 
Fortunately  she  was  around  and  witnessed  the 
wrhole  process.  It  was  indeed  a  pure  accident. 
It  is  bad  enough  to  break  the  mirror  even  in 
Japan,  as  we  write  figuratively  the  broken 
mirror,  meaning  the  divorce.  In  old  mytho 
logical  way  we  regard  the  mirror  as  a  woman's 
[265] 


UNDISTINGUISHED    AMERICANS 

heart.  I  felt  very  bad  with  the  mingling  emo 
tion  of  guilt  and  remorse.  She  repeated 
nearly  rest  of  the  day  how  it  is  a  bad  luck  and 
were  I  only  been  careful  so  on.  Made  me  ex 
ceedingly  uncomfortable. 

I  was  exceedingly  hate  to  leave  her  place, 
but  I  got  through  High  School,  and  there  was 
no  colleges  around.  Hence  I  was  compelled 
to  bid  farewell  to  my  adored  and  respected 
mistress,  who  was  kind  enough  to  take  me  as 
her  protege  and  treated  me  an  equal.  It 
seems  to  me  no  language  are  too  extravagant 
to  compliment  her  in  order  to  express  my  grat 
itude  toward  her. 

Next  position  I  had  was  in  New  York — a 
family  of  up-to-date  fashionable  mistress.  I 
was  engaged  as  a  butler.  I  have  surprised 
the  formality  she  observe.  The  way  to  open 
the  door,  salute  the  guest,  language  to  be  used 
according  to  the  rank  of  the  guests  and  how 
to  handle  the  name  card.  Characteristic  sim 
plicity  of  democracy  could  not  be  seen  in  this 
household.  I  am  distinctly  felt  I  am  a  ser 
vant,  as  the  mistress  artificially  created  the 
wide  gap  between  her  and  me.  Her  tone  of 
speech  were  imperial  dignity.  I  have  only  to 
obey  her  mechanically  and  perform  automati 
cally  the  assigned  duty.  To  me  this  state  of 
things  were  exceedingly  dull.  I  know  I  am 
servant  full  well,  yet  I  wished  to  be  treated  as 
a  man.  I  thought  she  is  so  accustomed  the 
"sycophancy  and  servility  of  the  servants  she 
[266] 


STORY  OF  A  JAPANESE  SERVANT 

could  not  help  but  despise  them.  Perhaps  the 
experience  forced  her  to  think  the  servants 
cannot  he  trusted  and  depended  upon.  I 
thought  I  might  be  able  to  improve  the  situa 
tion  by  convincing  her  my  efficiency  and  also 
I  have  no  mercenary  spirit.  Though  the  posi 
tion  may  be  a  disgraceful  one,  I  consoled  my 
own,  hoping  to  make  it  pure  and  exalt  little 
higher  by  the  recognition  of  my  personality 
by  my  master  and  mistress.  I  was  anxious  to 
find  out  of  my  mistress's  strongest  principle 
of  her  self-regard.  I  have  carefully  listened 
her  conversation  in  the  dining  table  with  her 
husband,  of  whom  I  regretfully  observed  the 
traces  of  the  hard-hearted  and  close-fitted  sel 
fishness,  and  at  the  afternoon  tea  with  her 
friends.  But  each  occasion  made  me  feel  dis 
appointed.  One  day  she  told  me  go  out  get 
for  her  the  cigarettes.  Out  of  my  surprise  I 
said  to  her,  "  Do  you  smoke?  "  I  had  not  a 
least  bit  of  idea  that  the  respectful  American 
lady  would  smoke.  I  was  plainly  told  that 
I  am  her  servant.  I  got  to  obey  whatever  she 
wants  to.  Same  afternoon  I  have  been  told 
to  serve  the  afternoon  tea.  The  mistress  see 
ing  the  tea  cup,  said  to  me,  "  No,  no;  put  the 
glass  for  the  champagne,  of  course."  I  was 
once  more  surprised.  Meantime  the  luxuri 
ously  dressed,  pretty  looking  creature  whom, 
when  I  met  at  the  hallway,  they  were  so  digni 
fied  with  the  majestic  air  and  impressed  me  as 
if  they  were  the  living  angels ;  but,  to  my  utter 
[267] 


UNDISTINGUISHED    AMERICANS 

disgust,  these  fair,  supposed  innocent  sex 
drunk  and  smoke  like  men  do.  Next  day  I 
tendered  my  resignation  to  my  ladyship. 

Another  new  impression  I  have  obtained  in 
this  household.  One  day  I  noticed  a  diagram 
map  of  the  lineage  of  the  family  hanging  on 
the  wall  of  the  reception  room.  The  ancestor 
was  a  knight  of  Crusade.  This  phenomena 
has  quite  struck  me.  Before  I  came  to  this 
country  I  have  told  my  uncle  the  worship  of 
ancestor  is  a  primitive  idea  and  boast  of  ances 
tor  is  a  remnant  notion  of  Feudalism.  I  shall 
be  my  own  ancestor.  I  remember  how  he  rep 
rimanded  me  with  a  red  hot  angry.  Still  at 
the  bottom  of  my  heart  I  have  contended  I 
am  right.  I  thought  I  rather  worship  Frank 
lin  and  Emerson.  Now  I  must  say  that 
human  nature  is  everywhere  just  the  same. 

One  summer  I  worked  at  steam  yacht  as  a 
cabin  boy.  Captain,  Chief  and  sailors  were 
all  good-natured  human  being.  I  do  not  see 
why  they  have  been  called  as  sea  dogs.  When 
you  come  contact  with  them  they  are  really  the 
lovely  fellow.  Indeed,  they  are  good  for 
nothing;  too  honest  and  too  simple-minded  to 
succeed  modern  complicated  business  world. 
Of  course  they  use  the  unbecoming  languages, 
but  they  really  does  not  mean  so.  They  use 
swearing  even  when  they  expose  their  joy  and 
appreciation.  I  am  soon  nicknamed  as  "  Jap 
Politician,"  as  I  have  always  fight  against  the 
ship  crew  of  their  socialistic  tendency,  def  end- 
[268] 


STORY  OF  A  JAPANESE  SERVANT 

ing  the  statesmen  and  wealthy  people.  It  is 
wonderful  how  the  morbid  socialistic  senti 
ment  saturated  among  the  unhealthy  mind  of 
the  sailors. 

Although  I  has  been  advocated  the  gospel 
of  wealth  and  extolled  the  rich,  I  hate  the  rich 
people  who  display  their  wealth  and  give  me 
a  tip  in  a  boastful  manner.  I  felt  I  am  in 
sulted  and  I  have  protested.  Sometime  the 
tip  was  handed  down  indirectly  from  the  hands 
of  the  captain.  Each  time  when  I  have 
obliged  to  take  the  tip  I  am  distinctly  felt 
"  the  gift  without  giver  is  bare."  I,  however, 
thankfully  accepted  the  offer  from  a  lady  who 
give  me  the  money  in  such  a  kind  and  sympa 
thetic  manner.  A  gentleman  gave  one  dollar, 
saying,  "  I  wish  this  were  ten  times  as  much; 
still  I  want  you  keep  it  for  me  to  help  your 
study."  Indeed  this  one  dollar  how  precious 
1  felt.  Once  a  fastidious  lady  was  on  the 
board.  She  used  to  kick  one  thing  to  another. 
Of  course  I  did  not  pay  any  attention. 
Whenever  she  scold  me,  I  said  at  heart,  "  It's 
your  pleasure  to  blame  me,  lady.  I,  on  my 
part,  simply  to  hear  you.  I  am  not  almighty ; 
I  cannot  be  a  perfect.  If  I  made  mistake  I 
shall  correct.  You  might  bully  me  as  you 
please  and  treat  me  like  a  dog,  I  shall  not  ob 
ject.  I  have  a  soul  within  me.  My  vital 
energy  in  self-denying  struggle  could  not  be 
impaired  by  your  despise.  On  the  contrary,  it 
will  be  stimulated."  That  the  way  I  used  to 
[269] 


UNDISTINGUISHED    AMERICANS 

swallowed  down  all  the  reprimand  she  gave 
me.  1,  however,  getting  tired  to  hear  her 
sharp  tongue  and  hoping  to  be  on  the  good 
term  with  her.  One  morning  I  have  exerted 
an  exceptionally  good  care  to  clean  her  cabin. 
Right  after  I  got  through  her  compartment 
she  called  me  back  and  told  me  that  I  did  not 
take  a  care  of.  I  replied  emphatically  with  a 
conviction,  "  I  did  my  best  under  the  circum 
stance."  But  she  insisted  I  must  do  better 
next  time.  Then  she  took  out  dollar  bill,  gave 
;t  to  me.  I  refused  to  take  it.  She  thrust 
the  money  into  my  hand.  I  have  thrown  back 
the  paper  money  to  her  feet.  "  Madam,  this 
is  the  bribe  and  graft.  I  am  amply  paid  from 
the  owner  of  the  yacht  to  serve  you,"  said  I. 
:t  No,  madam;  no  tip  for  me."  Without  wait 
ing  her  answer,  while  she  seemed  taken  en 
tirely  surprised,  I  quickly  withdrew  from  her. 
Since  then  she  has  entirely  changed  her  atti 
tude  toward  me. 

While  I  was  working  on  the  boat  I  noticed 
the  cook  making  a  soup  from  a  spring  chicken 
and  a  good  size  of  fine  roast  beef.  I  am 
amazed  of  the  extravagant  use  of  the  material. 
I  asked  him  why  he  do  not  use  the  soup  meat 
and  a  cheaper  roaster  for  making  the  soup.  I 
was  told  it's  none  of  my  business  and  get  out 
from  the  place.  Daily  I  witnessed  the  terri 
ble  scene  of  wasting  the  food.  I  often 
thought  something  ought  to  be  done.  It's 
just  economic  crime.  The  foodstuff  cook 
[270] 


STORY  OF  A  JAPANESE  SERVANT 

thrown  away  overboard  would  be  more  than 
enough  to  support  five  families  in  the  East 
Side.  Yet  the  fellow  honored  as  an  excellent 
cook  and  especially  praised  of  his  soup ! 

The  owner  of  the  yacht  and  mistress  were 
very  agreeable  persons ;  the  children,  too,  were 
also  lovely  and  good-natured  youngsters.  I 
shall  never  forget  the  kindness  and 'considera 
tion  shown  by  them.  While  I  am  waiting  on 
the  table  I  have  often  drawn  into  the  conversa 
tion.  The  mistress,  unlike  the  wife  who  com 
mands  an  enormous  fortune,  possessed  a  good 
common  sense  and  has  a  sensible  judgment  in 
treating  of  her  dependence,  as  she  was  cul 
tured  lady.  The  owner  of  the  boat  was  the 
man  of  affairs;  a  broad-minded  man  he  was. 
He  has  had  struggling  days  in  his  early  life. 
He  has  shown  me  great  deal  of  sympathy.  I 
did  indeed  "  just  love  "  to  serve  them,  as  one 
of  the  sailors  has  said  to  me. 

Next  summer  I  have  been  told  by  Mr.  C.  to 
work  his  yacht  again.  He  said  he  would  pay 
me  $40  per  month  and  if  I  stayed  whole  sea 
son  he  would  add  to  it  $100.  "  This  $100  is 
not  charity;  it  my  appreciation  for  your  self- 
denying  struggle,  to  help  your  school  ex 
penses,"  said  he.  How  hard  it  was  to  reject 
for  such  a  kind  offer.  I  asked  two  days  for 
the  answer.  Finally  I  have  decided  to  refuse, 
as  I  had  some  reasons  to  believe  there  are  pos 
sibility  to  develop  my  ability  in  another  direc 
tion  more  congenial  line.  For  days  I  did  not 
[271] 


UNDISTINGUISHED    AMERICANS 

hear  from  him.  I  thought  I  am  sure  he  has 
angered  me.  I  was  waiting  the  occasion  to 
explain  to  him  fully  and  apologize.  About 
a  month  later  I  got  the  message  to  come  to  his 
office.  To  my  surprise  Mr.  C.  told  me  he 
would  give  me  $50  at  the  fall  to  help  me  out 
my  school  expenses.  He  said,  "  I  am  inter 
ested  with  you.  You  will  be  a  great  man 
some  day.  I  wanted  to  express  by  apprecia 
tion  to  the  '  hard  spot  within  you.' '  How 
gratefully  I  felt.  I  did  not  find  the  suitable 
phrase  to  express  my  thanks,  so  I  simply  said, 
;  Thank  you."  But  inwardly  I  did  almost 
worshiped  him.  I  felt  I  am  not  alone  in  this 
world.  What  encouragement  Mr.  C.'s  words 
to  me;  I  felt  as  though  I  got  the  reinforce 
ment  of  one  regiment. 

Shall  I  stop  here  with  this  happy  memory? 
Yet  before  I  close  this  confession  I  cannot 
pass  on  without  disclosing  a  few  incidence  I 
suffered  from  the  hands  of  inconsiderate  mil 
lionaire.  About  three  years  ago  I  have 
worked  as  a  butler  in  a  millionaire's  mansion 
at  N.  J.  Mistress  was  the  young  lady  about 
twenty-three  years  old  and  the  master  was 
forty-five  years  old.  Every  morning  mis 
tress  would  not  get  up  till  eleven  o'clock. 
Master  gets  up  at  six.  So  we  servants  serve 
twice  breakfast.  At  the  dinner  often  mistress 
and  master  served  the  different  sort  of  food. 
One  day  I  was  sick  and  asked  three  days'  ab 
sent  to  consult  Japanese  physician  in  New 
[272] 


STORY  OF  A  JAPANESE  SERVANT 

York.  According  the  advice  of  doctor  I 
have  written  twice  asking  to  be  given  two 
more  days  to  rest.  I  did  not  get  answer. 
After  I  stay  out  five  days  I  took  1.30  p.  M. 
train  from  Jersey  City;  returned  house  4 
p.  M.  As  soon  as  I  entered  the  mansion  the 
master  told  me  I  am  discharged.  This  was 
the  reward  for  my  faithful  service  of  eight 
months.  I  wanted  to  know  the  reason  for. 
He  simply  said  he  wants  to  have  waitress  and 
told  me  to  hurry  to  pack  up  my  belonging 
and  leave  instantly.  I  asked,  however,  the 
reference  to  be  given.  He  said  he  would  send 
forward  to  New  York  by  mail.  I  was  every 
thing  ready  in  one  hour;  left  his  mansion  at 
5  P.  M.  to  the  station,  where  I  waited  one  hour 
and  a  half.  I  returned  New  York  again  9 
P.  M.^  with  hunger  and  exhausted  from  emo 
tion,  as  I  am  not  quite  recovered  from  my  ill 
ness.  Since  then  three  times  I  asked  for  ref 
erence;  he  never  answered.  Until  now  it  is 
quite  mystery  what  made  him  angry  me.  His 
action  handicapped  me  greatly  to  hunt  new 
place. 

Once  I  was  engaged  as  a  second  butler  in 
the  villa  of  a  retired  merchant.  When  I  got 
there  I  found  myself  I  am  really  a  useful  man 
as  well  as  second  butler,  as  I  am  requested  to 
make  the  beds  of  coachmen,  carry  up  the  coal 
for  the  cook,  help  the  work  of  chambermaid, 
laundress  and  housekeeper  wanted  me  to  do. 
The  members  of  the  family  were  only  three, 
[273] 


UNDISTINGUISHED    AMERICANS 

old  gentleman,  old  lady  and  their  daughter- 
old  maid.  They  were  proud  and  aristocratic. 
They  would  not  speak  to  servants  except  to 
give  order  and  reprimand.  There  were  ten 
servants  to  serve  them.  An  old  lady  and  old 
maid  has  nothing  to  do  but  to  watch  rigidly 
how  servants  work.  The  old  gentleman  was 
lovely,  good-natured  man.  So  we  servants 
called  an  old  lady  the  queen  regent,  her  daugh 
ter  prosecute  attorney,  the  housekeeper,  de 
tective.  Every  morning  I  wash  the  front 
door  porch  at  6  A.  M.  But  sometime  mail  car 
rier  or  coachman  leave  the  footmarks  after  I 
have  cleaned  the  steps.  Later  prosecutor  get 
up.  If  she  found  the  marks  she  will  upbraid 
me  that  I  did  not  swept  the  place  at  all.  When 
she  come  to  reception  room  every  morning 
first  thing  she  would  do  was  this,  drew  out  her 
snow-white  clean  handkerchief,  wrap  up  her 
forefinger  and  scrape  the  crossboard  at  the 
bottom  of  chair  and  also  the  corners  of  wood 
work.  If  by  chance  any  dust  deposited  to  the 
handkerchief  there  will  be  a  thunder  of  repri 
mand.  The  housekeeper-detective  was  a  timid 
and  sensitive  woman.  She  enforced  zealously 
the  oppressive  domestic  rules  issued  by  the 
queen  regent.  We  were  told  not  to  talk  aloud 
or  laugh.  If  we  commence  to  gay  and  our 
voice  began  louder  sure  the  detective  come  for 
explanation.  I  was  always  looked  by  her  as 
suspicious  boy.  There  must  be  complete 
silence  be  ruled,  hence  somewhat  gloomy.  I 
[274] 


STORY  OF  A  JAPANESE  SERVANT 

have  openly  called  housekeeper  "  Miss  Detec 
tive  "  and  told  her,  "  We  ought  make  this 
household  little  cheerful.  Let  us  have  sun 
shine,  Miss  Detective,"  said  I.  While  the  lux 
urious  dishes  are  served  in  the  table,  the  meals 
given  for  the  servants  was  lamentably  poor 
one.  The  dog  meat  or  soup  meat  was  given 
to  our  dinner.  The  morning  papers  was  not 
allowed  to  be  read  until  9  P.  M.  Besides  I 
was  expected  to  work  all  the  time ;  this  was  im 
possible  physically.  One  afternoon  I  am  so 
tired  I  sat  down  in  the  chair  at  the  pantry  and 
rested.  Miss  Detective  came  inquired  why  I 
am  not  working.  I  said  to  her,  "  I  have  done 
everything  assigned  to  me.  I  am  not  machine. 
I  cannot  work  all  the  time."  Soon  I  was 
called  out  before  the  queen.  Her  majesty 
asked  me  what  I  have  been  doing.  I  replied, 
"  Nothing,  madam."  "  But  you  must  do 
something,  B.,"  said  her  majesty.  :'  Did  you 
cleaned  the  windows  of  my  room?  "  "  I  have 
washed  that  windows  last  Saturday;  this  is 
Wednesday.  They  are  clean,  madam." 
'  Last  Saturday!  You  must  wash  that  win 
dows  any  way  this  week!  "  I  told  her  it  is 
foolish  to  waste  money  and  it  is  more 
so  to  waste  energy.  "  Do  you  know  to 
whom  you  are  speaking?  "  said  she.  "  Do  it 
now!  "  Finding  no  use  to  argue  with  her  I 
went  on  to  clean  the  windows.  As  soon  as 
that  is  done  I  told  Miss  Detective  I  want  to 
leave  instantly;  it  is  perfectly  nonsense  to 


UNDISTINGUISHED    AMERICANS 

work  to  such  a  person  to  enslave  myself.  Miss 
Detective,  finding  me  beyond  her  control,  send 
me  up  to  the  head  of  family.  The  old  gentle 
man  said:  "  Say,  B.,  do  you  understand  the 
law  protect  you  and  me."  "  No,  sir;  not 
always  for  a  servant.  The  law  might  protect 
you  and  your  millions  are  ample  enough  to 
break  the  law,"  said  I  in  a  sulky  mood.  "  All 
I  can  do  is  to  escape  from  the  law.  You  can 
get  rid  of  your  servant  when  you  dislike  him. 
If  I  insist  to  quit  immediately  you  can  with 
hold  my  wages  and  could  compel  me  to  stay 
till  the  month  out,  as  I  have  been  engaged  so, 
by  resorting  to  the  law."  He  said  I  must  stay 
till  my  successor  be  found.  Finally  we  have 
compromised  that  I  should  stay  five  days 
more. 

Greatest  trouble  and  disadvantage  to  be  a 
domestic  servant  is  that  he  has  to  be  absolutely 
subjected  under  the  emotional  rule  of  the  mis 
tress.  No  amount  of  candid  or  rational  argu 
ment  will  avail.  No  matter  how  worthy  your 
dissenting  opinion  be,  if  it  does  not  please  your 
mistress  you  have  to  suffer  for  it.  Once  I 
worked  for  a  widow  lady  whose  incomes  are 
derived  from  the  real  estate,  stock  and  bonds. 
She  is  economizing  so  strictly  that  often  handi 
capped  me.  One  day,  taking  the  chances  of 
her  good  humor,  I  told  her  that  her  well 
meant  efforts  are  the  misapplication  of  her 
energy,  trying  to  save  her  pin  money  through 
the  economy  of  gas  bill  and  grocery  bill 
[276] 


STORY  OF  A  JAPANESE  SERVANT 

in  the  old-fashioned  way  while  neglecting 
to  avail  herself  to  the  "  modern  high  finance 
scheme "  hereby  she  may  improve  her  re 
sources.  The  reward  of  this  speech  was  an 
honorable  discharge!  To  be  a  successful  ser 
vant  is  to  make  yourself  a  fool.  This  habitual 
submission  will  bring  a  lamentable  effect  to 
the  one's  brain  function.  Day  after  day 
throughout  the  years  confined  into  the  kitchen 
and  dining-room,  physically  tired,  unable  to 
refresh  yourself  in  the  way  of  mental  reci 
procity,  even  the  bright  head  will  suffer  if 
stay  too  long  as  a  servant.  Of  course,  one's 
character  will  be  greatly  improved  and  re 
fined  by  serving  the  employer  like  Mr.  C. 
and  Mrs.  B.  But  they  are  exception.  Ma 
jority  of  employer  will  not  be  interested  in 
their  servants. 

The  motive  of  my  engaging  in  the  domestic 
work,  no  matter  how  meritorious  it  may  intrin 
sically  be,  our  people  look  with  me  the  scorn 
ful  eyes  if  not  with  positive  despise.  The 
doors  of  prominent  Japanese  family  closed 
before  me.  Sometimes  I  was  unrecognized  by 
the  fellow  students  from  Japan,  who  are  sons 
of  wealth.  I  wrote  one  day  a  few  lines  to 
console  myself: 

Who  does  scorn  the  honest  toil 
Mayest  ungraceful  post  thou  hail 
When  the  motive  is  true  and  pure 
The  wealth  of  learning  to  store. 
[277] 


UNDISTINGUISHED    AMERICANS 

O !  never  say  that  my  humble  lot 
Does  harm  the  fame  of  fortunate  sons 
Of  Yamato.     Disgrace  me  not. 
How  wilt  thou  feel,  were  it  thine  once. 

How  I  suffer  within  knowest  thou  not ; 
Aspiring  hope  alone  animates  weary  heart. 
Year  after  year  and  day  after  day 
To  realize  the  hope  dear  to  my  destiny. 

Unknown  to  shape  my  destination 
My  heart  sobered  with  resignation. 
But  far  from  to  be  the  misanthropist 
The  love  of  life  giving  the  keener  zest. 

I  kneel  down  for  the  silent  prayer, 
Concealing  my  own  I  toil  and  prepare 
Over  the  rough  sea  I  steer  my  heart, 
And  absorbed  the  whole  my  thought. 

O  what  joy  how  blessed  I  am! 

With  inspiring  hope  for  my  future  aim 

To  consecrate  my  own  for  Truth  and  Humanity, 

To  this  end  I  devote  with  honor  and  sincerity. 

Some  say  Japanese  are  studying  while  they 
are  working  in  the  kitchen,  but  it  is  all  non 
sense.  Many  of  them  started  so,  but  nearly 
all  of  them  failed.  It  is  all  well  up  to  college, 
where  there  are  not  much  references  need  to 
read.  After  you  have  served  dinner,  wash 
ing  dishes  and  cleaning  dining-room,  you  are 
often  tired  when  you  commence  to  write  an 
essay.  You  will  feel  sometime  your  fingers 
[278] 


STORY  OF  A  JAPANESE  SERVANT 

are  stiff  and  your  arms  are  ache.  In  the  after 
noon,  just  when  you  began  concentrated  on 
the  points  in  the  book,  the  front  door  bell  rung 
—the  goods  delivered  from  the  stores,  or  call 
ers  to  mistress,  or  telephone  messages  and  what 
not.  How  often  you  are  disturbed  while  you 
have  to  read  at  least  three  hours  succession 
quietly  in  order  to  make  the  outline  and  dug 
up  all  the  essential  points.  I  have  experience, 
once  I  attended  lecture  after  I  have  done  a 
rush  work  in  the  kitchen.  I  was  so  tired  felt 
as  though  all  the  blood  in  the  body  rushing  up 
to  the  brain  and  partly  sleepy.  My  hands 
would  not  work.  I  could  not  take  the  note  of 
professor's  lecture,  as  my  head  so  dull  could 
not  order  to  my  hand  what  professor's  lecture 
was. 

Many  Japanese  servants  has  told  me  as  soon 
as  they  saved  sufficient  amount  of  money  they 
would  start  the  business.  But  many  young 
Japanese,  while  their  intentions  are  laudable, 
they  will  find  the  vile  condition  of  environment 
in  a  large  city  like  New  York  has  a  greater 
force  than  their  moral  courage  could  resist. 
Disheartened  from  the  hard  work  or  excessive 
disagreeableness  of  their  environment  often 
tempt  them  to  seek  a  vain  comfort  in  the  mis 
directed  quarter;  thus  dissipate  their  pre 
ciously  earned  money.  Even  those  who  have 
saved  money  successfully  for  the  capital  to 
start  the  business,  their  future  is  quite  doubt 
ful.  When  they  have  saved  enough  money 
[279] 


UNDISTINGUISHED    AMERICANS 

it  will  be  a  time  that  their  business  ability 
melted  away  or  by  no  means  are  sharp.  Years' 
husbanding  of  domestic  work,  handicapped 
and  over-interfered  by  mistress,  their  mental 
agilities  are  reduced  to  the  lamentable  degree. 
Yet,  matured  by  these  undesirable  experience, 
most  of  them  are  quite  unconscious  of  this  out 
come  as  little  by  little  submissive  and  depend 
ing  habit  so  securely  rooted  within  their  mind. 
It  will  be  an  exceedingly  hard  to  adjust  them 
selves  immediately  to  the  careful  and  shrewd 
watch  required  in  the  modern  business  enter 
prise,  though  they  may  be  assisted  by  the  in 
stinct  of  self-interest.  Most  deliberate  reflec 
tion  is  required  from  these  unconscious  servile 
habit  of  action  to  restore  to  their  previous  in 
dependent  thinking  mind.  The  sooner  they 
quit  the  kitchen  the  better,  though  needless  to 
say  there  are  a  few7  exceptions. 

Above  all  I  am  so  grateful  to  the  members 
of  the  Japanese  Consulate,  prominent  citizens 
of  our  colony,  editors  of  Japanese  papers, 
ministers  and  secretaries  of  Japanese  missions 
co-operating  each  other  to  help  out  young 
Japanese  to  secure  their  more  agreeable  and 
harmless  position,  and  also  they  are  throwing 
their  good  influence  to  induce  Japanese  domes 
tic  servants  to  go  over  to  Korea  and  Man 
churia  to  become  a  pioneer  and  land  owner  in 
these  country,  instead  of  to  be  the  co-worker 
with  the  Venus  in  the  American  commissary 
department. 

[280] 


UF£ 


CHAPTER   XVI 

THE    LIFE    STORY    OF    A    CHINAMAN 

Mr.  Lee  Chew  is  a  representative  Chinese  business  man  of 
New  York.  He  expresses  with  much  force  the  following  opin 
ions  that  are  generally  held  by  his  countrymen  throughout 
America.  The  interview  that  follows  is  strictly  as  he  gave  it, 
except  as  to  detail  of  arrangement  and  mere  verbiage. 

THE  village  where  I  was  born  is  situated  in 
the  province  of  Canton,  on  one  of  the 
banks  of  the  Si-Kiang  River.  It  is  called  a 
village,  although  it  is  really  as  big  as  a  city, 
for  there  are  about  5,000  men  in  it  over  eigh 
teen  years  of  age  —  women  and  children  and 
even  youths  are  not  counted  in  our  villages. 

All  in  the  village  belonged  to  the  tribe  of 

Lee.     They    did    not    intermarry    with    one 

another,  but  the  men  went  to  other  villages 

for  their  wives  and  brought  them  home  to  their 

fathers'  houses,  and  men  from  other  villages 

—  Wus  and  Wings  and  Sings  and  Fongs,  etc. 

—chose  wives  from  among  our  girls. 

When  I  was  a  baby  I  was  kept  in  our  house 
all  the  time  with  my  mother,  but  when  I  was 
a  boy  of  seven  I  had  to  sleep  at  nights  with 
other  boys  of  the  village  —  about  thirty  of  them 
in  one  house.  The  girls  are  separated  the 
same  way  —  thirty  or  forty  of  them  sleeping 
[381] 


UNDISTINGUISHED    AMERICANS 

together  in  one  house  away  from  their  parents 
—and  the  widows  have  houses  where  they  work 
and  sleep,  though  they  go  to  their  fathers' 
houses  to  eat. 

My  father's  house  is  built  of  fine  blue  brick, 
better  than  the  brick  in  the  houses  here  in  the 
United  States.  It  is  only  one  story  high, 
roofed  with  red  tiles  and  surrounded  by  a  stone 
wall  which  also  incloses  the  yard.  There  are 
four  rooms  in  the  house,  one  large  living  room 
which  serves  for  a  parlor  and  three  private 
rooms,  one  occupied  by  my  grandfather,  who 
is  very  old  and  very  honorable ;  another  by  my 
father  and  mother,  and  the  third  by  my  oldest 
brother  and  his  wife  and  two  little  children. 
There  are  no  windows,  but  the  door  is  left  open 
all  day. 

All  the  men  of  the  village  have  farms,  but 
they  don't  live  on  them  as  the  farmers  do  here ; 
they  live  in  the  village,  but  go  out  during  the 
day  time  and  wrork  their  farms,  coming  home 
before  dark.  My  father  has  a  farm  of  about 
ten  acres,  on  which  he  grows  a  great  abundance 
of  things — sweet  potatoes,  rice,  beans,  peas, 
yams,  sugar  cane,  pineapples,  bananas,  lychee 
nuts  and  palms.  The  palm  leaves  are  useful 
and  can  be  sold.  Men  make  fans  of  the  lower 
part  of  each  leaf  near  the  stem,  and  water 
proof  coats  and  hats,  and  awnings  for  boats, 
of  the  parts  that  are  left  when  the  fans  are  cut 
out. 

So  many  different  things  can  be  grown  on 


STORY    OF    A    CHINAMAN 


one  small  farm,  because  we  bring  plenty  of 
water  in  a  canal  from  the  mountains  thirty 
miles  away,  and  every  farmer  takes  as  much  as 
he  wants  for  his  fields  by  means  of  drains. 

GROUND    PLAN    OF    LEE    CHEWS    FATHER'S    HOUSE 


LIVING    ROOM 

about 
20  x  20  ft. 


DOG| 


PIG 
PriN 


CHICK 
ENS. 
DUCKS 


He  can  give  each  crop  the  right  amount  of 
water. 

Our    people    all    working    together    make 

these  things,  the  mandarin  has  nothing  to  do 

with  it,  and  we  pay  no  taxes,  except  a  small 

one  on  the  land.     We  have  our  own  Govern- 

[283] 


UNDISTINGUISHED    AMERICANS 

ment,  consisting  of  the  elders  of  our  tribe— 
the  honorable  men.  When  a  men  gets  to  be 
sixty  years  of  age  he  begins  to  have  honor  and 
to  become  a  leader,  and  then  the  older  he  grows 
the  more  he  is  honored.  We  had  some  men 
who  were  nearly  one  hundred  years,  but  very 
few  of  them. 

In  spite  of  the  fact  that  any  man  may  cor 
rect  them  for  a  fault,  Chinese  boys  have  good 
times  and  plenty  of  play.  We  played  games 
like  tag,  and  other  games  like  shinny  and  a 
sort  of  football  called  yin. 

We  had  dogs  to  play  with — plenty  of  dogs 
and  good  dogs — that  understand  Chinese  as 
well  as  American  dogs  understand  American 
language.  We  hunted  with  them,  and  we  also 
went  fishing  and  had  as  good  a  time  as  Ameri 
can  boys,  perhaps  better,  as  we  were  almost 
always  together  in  our  house,  which  was  a  sort 
of  boys'  club  house,  so  we  had  many  playmates. 
Whatever  we  did  we  did  all  together,  and  our 
rivals  were  the  boys  of  other  club  houses,  with 
whom  we  sometimes  competed  in  the  games. 
But  all  our  play  outdoors  was  in  the  daylight, 
because  there  were  many  graveyards  about 
and  after  dark,  so  it  was  said,  black  ghosts 
with  flaming  mouths  and  eyes  and  long  claws 
and  teeth  would  come  from  these  and  tear 
to  pieces  and  devour  any  one  whom  they  might 
meet. 

It  was  not  all  play  for  us  boys,  however. 
We  had  to  go  to  school,  where  we  learned  to 
[284] 


STORY    OF    A    CHINAMAN 


read  and  write  and  to  recite  the  precepts  of 
Kong-f  oo-tsze  and  the  other  Sages,  and  stories 
about  the  great  Emperors  of  China,  who  ruled 
with  the  wisdom  of  gods  and  gave  to  the 
whole  world  the  light  of  high  civilization  and 
the  culture  of  our  literature,  which  is  the  ad 
miration  of  all  nations. 

I  went  to  my  parents'  house  for  meals,  ap 
proaching  my  grandfather  with  awe,  my 
father  and  mother  with  veneration  and  my 
elder  brother  with  respect.  I  never  spoke  un 
less  spoken  to,  but  I  listened  and  heard  much 
concerning  the  red  haired,  green  eyed  foreign 
devils  with  the  hairy  faces,  who  had  lately 
come  out  of  the  sea  and  clustered  on  our  shores. 
They  were  wild  and  fierce  and  wicked,  and 
paid  no  regard  to  the  moral  precepts  of  Kong- 
f  oo-tsze  and  the  Sages;  neither  did  they  wor 
ship  their  ancestors,  but  pretended  to  be  wiser 
than  their  fathers  and  grandfathers.  They 
loved  to  beat  people  and  to  rob  and  murder. 
In  the  streets  of  Hong  Kong  many  of  them 
could  be  seen  reeling  drunk.  Their  speech 
was  a  savage  roar,  like  the  voice  of  the  tiger 
or  the  buffalo,  and  they  wanted  to  take  the 
land  away  from  the  Chinese.  Their  men  and 
women  lived  together  like  animals,  without 
any  marriage  or  faithfulness,  and  even  were 
shameless  enough  to  walk  the  streets  arm  in 
arm  in  daylight.  So  the  old  man  said. 

All  this  was  very  shocking  and  disgusting, 
as  our  women  seldom  were  on  the  street,  ex- 
[285] 


UNDISTINGUISHED    AMERICANS 

cept  in  the  evenings,  when  they  went  with  the 
water  jars  to  three  wells  that  supplied  all 
the  people.  Then  if  they  met  a  man  they 
stood  still,  with  their  faces  turned  to  the  wall, 
while  he  looked  the  other  way  when  he  passed 
them.  A  man  who  spoke  to  a  woman  on  the 
street  in  a  Chinese  village  would  be  beaten, 
perhaps  killed. 

My  grandfather  told  how  the  English  for 
eign  devils  had  made  wicked  war  on  the 
Emperor,  and  by  means  of  their  enchant 
ments  and  spells  had  defeated  his  armies  and 
forced  him  to  admit  their  opium,  so  that  the 
Chinese  might  smoke  and  become  weakened 
and  the  foreign  devils  might  rob  them  of  their 
land. 

My  grandfather  said  that  it  was  well  known 
that  the  Chinese  were  always  the  greatest  and 
wisest  among  men.  They  had  invented  and 
discovered  everything  that  was  good.  There 
fore  the  things  which  the  foreign  devils  had 
and  the  Chinese  had  not  must  be  evil.  Some  of 
these  things  were  very  wonderful,  enabling  the 
red  haired  savages  to  talk  with  one  another, 
though  they  might  be  thousands  of  miles 
apart.  They  had  suns  that  made  darkness 
like  day,  their  ships  carried  earthquakes  and 
volcanoes  to  fight  for  them,  and  thousands  of 
demons  that  lived  in  iron  and  steel  houses  spun 
their  cotton  and  silk,  pushed  their  boats,  pulled 
their  cars,  printed  their  newspapers  and  did 
other  work  for  them.  They  were  constant^ 
[286] 


STORY    OF    A    CHINAMAN 


showing  disrespect  for  their  ancestors  by 
getting  new  things  to  take  the  place  of  the 
old. 

I  heard  about  the  American  foreign  devils, 
that  they  were  false,  having  made  a  treaty  by 
which  it  was  agreed  that  they  could  freely 
come  to  China,  and  the  Chinese  as  freely  go  to 
their  country.  After  this  treaty  was  made 
China  opened  its  doors  to  them  and  then  they 
broke  the  treaty  that  they  had  asked  for  by 
shutting  the  Chinese  out  of  their  country. 

When  I  was  ten  years  of  age  I  worked  on 
my  father's  farm,  digging,  hoeing,  manuring, 
gathering  and  carrying  the  crop.  We  had  no 
horses,  as  nobody  under  the  rank  of  an  official 
is  allowed  to  have  a  horse  in  China,  and  horses 
do  not  work  on  farms  there,  which  is  the  reason 
why  the  roads  there  are  so  bad.  The  people 
cannot  use  roads  as  they  are  used  here,  and  so 
they  do  not  make  them. 

I  worked  on  my  father's  farm  till  I  was 
about  sixteen  years  of  age,  when  a  man  of 
our  tribe  came  back  from  America  and  took 
ground  as  large  as  four  city  blocks  and  made  a 
paradise  of  it.  He  put  a  large  stone  wall 
around  and  led  some  streams  through  and  built 
a  palace  and  summer  house  and  about  twenty 
other  structures,  "with  beautiful  bridges  over 
the  streams  and  walks  and  roads.  Trees  and 
flowers,  singing  birds,  water  fowl  and  curious 
animals  were  within  the  walls. 

The  man  had  gone  away  from  our  village  a 
[287] 


UNDISTINGUISHED    AMERICANS 

poor  boy.  Now  he  returned  with  unlimited 
wealth,  which  he  had  obtained  in  the  country 
of  the  American  wizards.  After  many  amaz 
ing  adventures  he  had  become  a  merchant  in 
a  city  called  Mott  Street,  so  it  was  said. 

When  his  palace  and  grounds  were  com 
pleted  he  gave  a  dinner  to  all  the  people  who 
assembled  to  be  his  guests.  One  hundred  pigs 
roasted  whole  were  served  on  the  tables,  with 
chickens,  ducks,  geese  and  such  an  abundance 
of  dainties  that  our  villagers  even  now  lick 
their  fingers  when  they  think  of  it.  He  had 
the  best  actors  from  Hong  Kong  performing, 
and  every  musician  for  miles  around  was  play 
ing  and  singing.  At  night  the  blaze  of  the 
lanterns  could  be  seen  for  many  miles. 

Having  made  his  wealth  among  the  barbar 
ians  this  man  had  faithfully  returned  to  pour 
it  out  among  his  tribesmen,  and  he  is  living  in 
our  village  now  very  happy,  and  a  pillar  of 
strength  to  the  poor. 

The  wealth  of  this  man  filled  my  mind  with 
the  idea  that  I,  too,  would  like  to  go  to  the 
country  of  the  wizards  and  gain  some  of  their 
wealth,  and  after  a  long  time  my  father  con 
sented,  and  gave  me  his  blessing,  and  my 
mother  took  leave  of  me  with  tears,  while  my 
grandfather  laid  his  hand  upon  my  head  and 
told  me  to  remember  and  live  up  to  the  ad 
monitions  of  the  Sages,  to  avoid  gambling, 
bad  women  and  men  of  evil  minds,  and  so  to 
[288  ] 


STORY    OF    A    CHINAMAN 


govern  my  conduct  that  when  I  died  my  an 
cestors  might  rejoice  to  welcome  me  as  a  guest 
on  high. 

My  father  gave  me  $100,  arid  I  went  to 
Hong  Kong  with  five  other  boys  from  our 
place  and  we  got  steerage  passage  on  a 
steamer,  paying  $50  each.  Everything  was 
new  to  me.  All  my  life  I  had  been  used  to 
sleeping  on  a  board  bed  with  a  wooden  pillow, 
and  I  found  the  steamer's  bunk  very  uncom 
fortable,  because  it  was  so  soft.  The  food  was 
different  from  that  which  I  had  been  used  to, 
and  I  did  not  like  it  at  all.  I  was  afraid  of  the 
stews,  for  the  thought  of  what  they  might  be 
made  of  by  the  wicked  wizards  of  the  ship  made 
me  ill.  Of  the  great  power  of  these  people  I 
saw  many  signs.  The  engines  that  moved  the 
ship  were  wonderful  monsters,  strong  enough 
to  lift  mountains.  When  I  got  to  San  Fran 
cisco,  which  was  before  the  passage  of  the  Ex 
clusion  act,  I  was  half  starved,  because  I  was 
afraid  to  eat  the  provisions  of  the  barbarians, 
but  a  few  days'  living  in  the  Chinese  quarter 
made  me  happy  again.  A  man  got  me  work 
as  a  house  servant  in  an  American  family,  and 
my  start  was  the  same  as  that  of  almost  all  the 
Chinese  in  this  country. 

The  Chinese  laundryman  does  not  learn  his 

trade   in   China;   there   are   no   laundries   in 

China.     The  women  there  do  the  washing  in 

tubs  and  have  no  washboards  or  flat  irons.    All 

[289] 


UNDISTINGUISHED    AMERICANS 

the  Chinese  laundrymen  here  were  taught  in 
the  first  place  by  American  women  just  as  I 
was  taught. 

When  I  went  to  work  for  that  American 
family  I  could  not  speak  a  word  of  English, 
and  I  did  not  know  anything  about  housework. 
The  family  consisted  of  husband,  wife  and 
two  children.  They  were  very  good  to  me 
and  paid  me  $3.50  a  week,  of  which  I  could 
save  $3. 

I  did  not  know  how  to  do  anything,  and  I 
did  not  understand  what  the  lady  said  to  me, 
but  she  showed  me  how  to  cook,  wash,  iron, 
sweep,  dust,  make  beds,  wash  dishes,  clean 
windows,  paint  and  brass,  polish  the  knives  and 
forks,  etc.,  by  doing  the  things  herself  and 
then  overseeing  my  efforts  to  imitate  her. 
She  would  take  my  hands  and  show  them  how 
to  do  things.  She  and  her  husband  and  chil 
dren  laughed  at  me  a  great  deal,  but  it  was 
all  good  natured.  I  was  not  confined  to  the 
house  in  the  way  servants  are  confined  here, 
but  when  my  work  was  done  in  the  morning  I 
was  allowed  to  go  out  till  lunch  time.  People 
in  California  are  more  generous  than  they  are 
here. 

In  six  months  I  had  learned  how  to  do  the 
work  of  our  house  quite  well,  and  I  was  get 
ting  $5  a  week  and  board,  and  putting  away 
about  $4.25  a  week.  I  had  also  learned  some 
English,  and  by  going  to  a  Sunday  school  I 
learned  more  English  and  something  about 
[290] 


STORY    OF    A    CHINAMAN 


Jesus,  who  was  a  great  Sage,  and  whose  pre 
cepts  are  like  those  of  Kong-f  oo-tsze. 

It  was  twenty  years  ago  when  I  came  to  this 
country,  and  I  worked  for  two  years  as  a  ser 
vant,  getting  at  the  last  $35  a  month.  I  sent 
money  home  to  comfort  my  parents,  but 
though  I  dressed  well  and  lived  well  and  had 
pleasure,  going  quite  often  to  the  Chinese 
theater  and  to  dinner  parties  in  Chinatown,  I 
saved  $50  in  the  first  six  months,  $90  in  the  sec 
ond,  $120  in  the  third  and  $150  in  the  fourth. 
So  I  had  $410  at  the  end  of  two  years,  and  I 
was  now  ready  to  start  in  business. 

When  I  first  opened  a  laundry  it  was  in 
company  with  a  partner,  who  had  been  in  the 
business  for  some  years.  We  went  to  a  town 
about  500  miles  inland,  where  a  railroad  was 
building.  We  got  a  board  shanty  and  worked 
for  the  men  employed  by  the  railroads.  Our 
rent  cost  us  $10  a  month  and  food  nearly  $5  a 
week  each,  for  all  food  was  dear  and  we 
wanted  the  best  of  everything — we  lived  prin 
cipally  on  rice,  chickens,  ducks  and  pork,  and 
did  our  own  cooking.  The  Chinese  take  nat 
urally  to  cooking.  It  cost  us  about  $50  for 
our  furniture  and  apparatus,  and  we  made 
close  upon  $60  a  week,  which  we  divided  be 
tween  us.  We  had  to  put  up  with  many  in 
sults  and  some  frauds,  as  men  would  come  in 
and  claim  parcels  that  did  not  belong  to  them, 
saying  they  had  lost  their  tickets,  and  would 
fight  if  they  did  not  get  what  they  asked  for. 
[291] 


UNDISTINGUISHED    AMERICANS 

Sometimes  we  were  taken  before  Magistrates 
and  fined  for  losing  shirts  that  we  had  never 
seen.  On  the  other  hand,  we  were  making 
money,  and  even  after  sending  home  $3  a 
week  I  was  able  to  save  about  $15.  When  the 
railroad  construction  gang  moved  on  we  went 
with  them.  The  men  were  rough  and  preju 
diced  against  us,  but  not  more  so  than  in  the 
big  Eastern  cities.  It  is  only  lately  in  New 
York  that  the  Chinese  have  been  able  to  dis 
continue  putting  wire  screens  in  front  of  their 
windows,  and  at  the  present  time  the  street 
boys  are  still  breaking  the  windows  of  Chinese 
laundries  all  over  the  city,  while  the  police  seem 
to  think  it  a  joke. 

We  were  three  years  with  the  railroad,  and 
then  went  to  the  mines,  where  we  made  plenty 
of  money  in  gold  dust,  but  had  a  hard  time,  for 
many  of  the  miners  were  wild  men  who  car 
ried  revolvers  and  after  drinking  would  come 
into  our  place  to  shoot  and  steal  shirts,  for 
which  we  had  to  pay.  One  of  these  men  hit 
his  head  hard  against  a  flat  iron  and  all  the 
miners  came  and  broke  up  our  laundry,  chasing 
us  out  of  town.  They  were  going  to  hang  us. 
We  lost  all  our  property  and  $365  in  money, 
which  members  of  the  mob  must  have  found. 

Luckily  most  of  our  money  was  in  the  hands 
of  Chinese  bankers  in  San  Francisco.  I  drew 
$500  and  went  East  to  Chicago,  where  I  had 
a  laundry  for  three  years,  during  which  I  in 
creased  my  capital  to  $2,500.  After  that  I 


STORY    OF    A    CHINAMAN 


was  four  years  in  Detroit.  I  went  home  to 
China  in  1897,  but  returned  in  1898,  and  began 
a  laundry  business  in  Buffalo.  But  Chinese 
laundry  business  now  is  not  as  good  as  it  was 
ten  years  ago.  Amercan  cheap  labor  in  the 
steam  laundries  has  hurt  it.  So  I  determined 
to  become  a  general  merchant,  and  with  this 
idea  I  came  to  New  York  and  opened  a  shop 
in  the  Chinese  quarter,  keeping  silks,  teas, 
porcelain,  clothes,  shoes,  hats  and  Chinese  pro 
visions,  which  include  shark's  fins  and  nuts, 
lily  bulbs  and  lily  flowers,  lychee  nuts  and 
other  Chinese  dainties,  but  do  not  include  rats, 
because  it  would  be  too  expensive  to  import 
them.  The  rat  which  is  eaten  by  the  Chinese 
is  a  field  animal  which  lives  on  rice,  grain  and 
sugar  cane.  Its  flesh  is  delicious.  Many 
Americans  who  have  tasted  shark's  fin  and 
bird's  nest  soup  and  tiger  lily  flowers  and 
bulbs  are  firm  friends  of  Chinese  cookery.  If 
they  could  enjoy  one  of  our  fine  rats  they 
would  go  to  China  to  live,  so  as  to  get  some 
more. 

American  people  eat  ground  hogs,  which 
are  very  like  these  Chinese  rats  and  they  also 
eat  many  sorts  of  food  that  our  people  would 
not  touch.  Those  that  have  dined  with  us  know 
that  we  understand  how  to  live  well. 

The   ordinary   laundry    shop    is    generally 

divided  into  three   rooms.     In   front   is   the 

room  where  the  customers  are  received,  behind 

that  a  bedroom  and  in  the  back  the  work  shop, 

[293] 


UNDISTINGUISHED    AMERICANS 

which  is  also  the  dining  room  and  kitchen. 
The  stove  and  cooking  utensils  are  the  same  as 
those  of  the  Americans. 

Work  in  a  laundry  begins  early  on  Monday 
morning— about  seven  o'clock.  There  are 
generally  two  men,  one  of  whom  washes  while 
the  other  does  the  ironing.  The  man  who 
irons  does  not  start  in  till  Tuesday,  as  the 
clothes  are  not  ready  for  him  to  begin  till  that 
time.  So  he  has  Sundays  and  Mondays  as 
holidays.  The  man  who  does  the  washing  fin 
ishes  up  on  Friday  night,  and  so  he  has  Satur 
day  and  Sunday.  Each  works  only  five  days 
a  week,  but  those  are  long  days — from  seven 
o'clock  in  the  morning  till  midnight. 

During  his  holidays  the  Chinaman  gets  a 
good  deal  of  fun  out  of  life.  There's  a  good 
deal  of  gambling  and  some  opium  smoking, 
but  not  so  much  as  Americans  imagine.  Only 
a  few  of  New  York's  Chinamen  smoke  opium. 
The  habit  is  very  general  among  rich  men  and 
officials  in  China,  but  not  so  much  among  poor 
men.  I  don't  think  it  does  as  much  harm  as 
the  liquor  that  the  Americans  drink.  There's 
nothing  so  bad  as  a  drunken  man.  Opium 
doesn't  make  people  crazy. 

Gambling  is  mostly  fan  tan,  but  there  is  a 
good  deal  of  poker,  which  the  Chinese  have 
learned  from  Americans  and  can  play  very 
well.  They  also  gamble  with  dominoes  and 
dice. 

The  fights  among  the  Chinese  and  the  oper- 


STORY    OF    A    CHINAMAN 


ations  of  the  hatchet  men  are  all  due  to  gam 
bling.  Newspapers  often  say  that  they  are 
feuds  between  the  six  companies,  but  that  is  a 
mistake.  The  six  companies  are  purely  be 
nevolent  societies,  which  look  after  the  China 
man  when  he  first  lands  here.  They  repre 
sent  the  six  southern  provinces  of  China, 
where  most  of  our  people  are  from,  and  they 
are  like  the  German,  Swedish,  English,  Irish 
arid  Italian  societies  which  assist  emigrants. 
When  the  Chinese  keep  clear  of  gambling 
and  opium  they  are  not  blackmailed,  and  they 
have  no  trouble  with  hatchet  men  or  any 
others. 

About  500  of  New  York's  Chinese  are 
Christians,  the  others  are  Buddhists,  Taoists, 
etc.,  all  mixed  up.  These  haven't  any  Sunday 
of  their  own,  but  keep  New  Year's  Day  and 
the  first  and  fifteenth  days  of  each  month, 
when  they  go  to  the  temple  in  Mott  Street. 

In  all  New  York  there  are  less  than  forty 
Chinese  women,  and  it  is  impossible  to  get  a 
Chinese  woman  out  here  unless  one  goes  to 
China  and  marries  her  there,  and  then  he  must 
collect  affidavits  to  prove  that  she  really  is  his 
wife.  That  is  in  case  of  a  merchant.  A  laun- 
dryman  can't  bring  his  wife  here  under  any 
circumstances,  and  even  the  women  of  the 
Chinese  Ambassador's  family  had  trouble  get 
ting  in  lately. 

Is  it  any  wonder,  therefore,  or  any  proof 
of  the  demoralization  of  our  people  if  some  of 
[295] 


UNDISTINGUISHED    AMERICANS 

the  white  women  in  Chinatown  are  not  of  good 
character?  What  other  set  of  men  so  isolated 
and  so  surrounded  by  alien  and  prejudiced 
people  are  more  moral?  Men,  wherever  they 
may  be,  need  the  society  of  women,  and 
among  the  white  women  of  Chinatown  are 
many  excellent  and  faithful  wives  and  mothers. 

Some  fault  is  found  with  us  for  sticking  to 
our  old  customs  here,  especially  in  the  matter  of 
clothes,  but  the  reason  is  that  we  find  American 
clothes  much  inferior,  so  far  as  comfort  and 
warmth  go.  The  Chinaman's  coat  for  the 
winter  is  very  durable,  very  light  and  very 
warm.  It  is  easy  and  not  in  the  way.  If  he 
wants  to  work  he  slips  out  of  it  in  a  moment 
and  can  put  it  on  again  as  quickly.  Our  shoes 
and  hats  also  are  better,  we  think,  for  our  pur 
poses,  than  the  American  clothes.  Most  of 
us  have  tried  the  American  clothes,  and  they 
make  us  feel  as  if  we  were  in  the  stocks. 

I  have  found  out,  during  my  residence  in 
this  country,  that  much  of  the  Chinese  preju 
dice  against  Americans  is  unfounded,  and  I 
no  longer  put  faith  in  the  wild  tales  that  were 
told  about  them  in  our  village,  though  some  of 
the  Chinese,  who  have  been  here  twenty  years 
and  who  are  learned  men,  still  believe  that  there 
is  no  marriage  in  this  country,  that  the  land  is 
infested  with  demons  and  that  all  the  people 
are  given  over  to  general  wickedness. 

I  know  better.     Americans  are  not  all  bad, 
nor  are  they  wicked  wizards.     Still,  they  have 
[296] 


STORY    OF    A    CHINAMAN 


their  faults  and  their  treatment  of  us  is  out 
rageous. 

The  reason  why  so  many  Chinese  go  into 
the  laundry  business  in  this  country  is  because 
it  requires  little  capital  and  is  one  of  the  few 
opportunities  that  are  open.  Men  of  other 
nationalities  who  are  jealous  of  the  Chinese, 
because  he  is  a  more  faithful  worker  than  one 
of  their  people,  have  raised  such  a  great  outcry 
about  Chinese  cheap  labor  that  they  have  shut 
him  out  of  working  on  farms  or  in  factories  or 
building  railroads  or  making  streets  or  dig 
ging  sewers.  He  cannot  practice  any  trade, 
and  his  opportunities  to  do  business  are  limited 
to  his  own  countrymen.  So  he  opens  a  laun 
dry  when  he  quits  domestic  service. 

The  treatment  of  the  Chinese  in  this  country 
is  all  wrong  and  mean.  It  is  persisted  in 
merely  because  China  is  not  a  fighting  nation. 
The  Americans  would  not  dare  to  treat  Ger 
mans,  English,  Italians  or  even  Japanese  as 
they  treat  the  Chinese,  because  if  they  did  there 
would  be  a  war. 

There  is  no  reason  for  the  prejudice  against 
the  Chinese.  The  cheap  labor  cry  was  always 
a  falsehood.  Their  labor  was  never  cheap, 
and  is  not  cheap  now.  It  has  always  com 
manded  the  highest  market  price.  But  the 
trouble  is  that  the  Chinese  are  such  excellent 
and  faithful  workers  that  bosses  will  have  no 
others  when  they  can  get  them.  If  you  look 
at  men  working  on  the  street  you  will  find  an 
[2971 


UNDISTINGUISHED    AMERICANS 

overseer  for  every  four  or  five  of  them.  That 
watching  is  not  necessary  for  Chinese.  They 
work  as  well  when  left  to  themselves  as  they 
do  when  some  one  is  looking  at  them. 

It  was  the  jealousy  of  laboring  men  of  other 
nationalities — especially  the  Irish — that  raised 
all  the  outcry  against  the  Chinese.  No  one 
would  hire  an  Irishman,  German,  Englishman 
or  Italian  when  he  could  get  a  Chinese,  be 
cause  our  countrymen  are  so  much  more  hon 
est,  industrious,  steady,  sober  and  painstaking. 
Chinese  were  persecuted,  not  for  their  vices, 
but  for  their  virtues.  There  never  was  any 
honesty  in  the  pretended  fear  of  leprosy  or  in 
the  cheap  labor  scare,  and  the  persecution  con 
tinues  still,  because  Americans  make  a  mere 
practice  of  loving  justice.  They  are  all  for 
money  making,  and  they  want  to  be  on  the 
strongest  side  always.  They  treat  you  as  a 
friend  while  you  are  prosperous,  but  if  you 
have  a  misfortune  they  don't  know  you.  There 
is  nothing  substantial  in  their  friendship. 

Irish  fill  the  almshouses  and  prisons  and 
orphan  asylums,  Italians  are  among  the  most 
dangerous  of  men,  Jews  are  unclean  and  ig 
norant.  Yet  they  are  all  let  in,  while  Chinese, 
who  are  sober,  or  duly  law  abiding,  clean,  edu 
cated  and  industrious,  are  shut  out.  There  are 
few  Chinamen  in  jails  and  none  in  the  poor 
houses.  There  are  no  Chinese  tramps  or 
drunkards.  Many  Chinese  here  have  become 
sincere  Christians,  in  spite  of  the  persecution 
[298] 


STORY    OF    A    CHINAMAN 


which  they  have  to  endure  from  their  heathen 
countrymen.  More  than  half  the  Chinese  in 
this  country  would  become  citizens  if  allowed 
to  do  so,  and  would  be  patriotic  Americans, 
But  how  can  they  make  this  country  their 
home  as  matters  are  now?  They  are  not  al 
lowed  to  bring  wives  here  from  China,  and  if 
they  marry  American  women  there  is  a  great 
outcry. 

All  Congressmen  acknowledge  the  injustice 
of  the  treatment  of  my  people,  yet  they  con 
tinue  it.  They  have  no  backbone. 

Under  the  circumstances,  how  can  I  call 
this  my  home,  and  how  can  any  one  blame  me 
if  I  take  my  money  and  go  back  to  my  village 
in  China? 


THE  END 


[299] 


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